So Bruce woke up early this morning. REALLY early. Apparently, he had to take a sh** and/or he is teething. So proceed to call mom and see what she can do about it.
Gee, let me see. Hmm... NOTHING. This might have been at 4 AM. But I can't say for sure. All I know is it felt to early to be up on my feet. And that's usually not the problem. I can walk over to his room at night and nurse him back to sleep b/c there's a futon in there for that purpose. So I only have to lose some rest, not all. But, see, last night it was all about nursing on one side, then the other, then whining, then pulling my hair, poking my eyes, scratching my face, crawling on my head. Anything to keep me from falling asleep. Because if Bruce can't sleep, heaven forbid Mommy does.
At 6:30 I've finally had it and put him in his crib. And I walk out of the room. Half zombie, half miffed. Of course, he's crying "Nooooo mommy, why are you doing this to meeeee? You ruthless, b***h!! You'll pay for this! I need miiiiilk!!". All I can think is, "_____________": nothing. I am about as awake as a log.
I sleep past the crying that shortly turns into whining and then silence, until he wakes again at 7:15. Which at this point is fine because, hey, I'm already late (Karl needs breakfast by 7:30). Husband is out the door by 8:00, which means little B and me had another almost two hours of loitering to fill.
So now he's off pulling loose CD's out of a drawer and taking CD cases off the rack. After that maybe he'll play a little with that mixing bowl turned hat or maybe wander off into my room. Who knows? The house is his oyster and a lot can happen in a few minutes.
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