Three hours ago, was bedtime.
Diaper, PJs, Tylenol, nursing and then approximately 13-18 minutes later, BAM.
ASLEEP. Or, that’s usually how it goes.
And yet, here we are. And by “we” I mean me and Gus, camped out on his bedroom floor, trying to burn off this random energy while Mike (who has been working 60+ hour weeks) sleeps down the hall.
This is after nursing, twice.
It is also after watching all of Mater’s Tall Tales (Gus’ favorite) in its entirety.
Now we’re scaling the sides of the crib, throwing all the clean laundry on the floor, swatting a lamp, and slooooowwwwwly undoing e.v.e.r.y. piece of velcro in the room. I’ve read every book he’s handed me.
Surrounded by toys, and he wants to play with the loudest, smelliest, most breakable things in the room, including, but not limited to:
His hamper lid.
His (thankfully clean and empty, but still smelly) old diaper pail.
The crinkly bag of wipe refills.
The heavy, full, ceramic piggy-bank.
Whatever is wooden and can be thrown on the wood floors (the poor dogs, who sleep downstairs).
And I’m not even kidding you when I say he just (JUST THIS SECOND) realized the Sophie the Giraffe squeaks. (Those poor, poor dogs)
And maybe I’m just sleepy (or still lightheaded from all the pizza I had at dinner! Pizza!!!) but I think I feel a tooth coming in too. (But if I try to feel it or, god forbid, look at it, all hell breaks loose)
There is no eye-rubbing. No whining or crying. He’s all smiles, this kid. In fact, he routinely stops playing and pretend belly-laughs, because it makes us laugh and it’s his new go-to game. So I guess it could be worse, but really. I’m sleepy.
Long story short: Go The F To Sleep.