So last night was one for the books (and no, I don't know what books they are. Just "the books", right?). On the heels of a close-to-perfect evening, full of kitchen time, we had a night like no other.
Jr, for some truly inexplicable reason, was mad at my right boob, and so ate half-meals for the last half of the day. Which meant he woke up at ten, when I got into bed (no, you're lame). And then again at midnight. And at two.
Okay, fine. We've done that before. It's not like we have to rock him to sleep or anything, just stick his nimmie back into his mouth and get back into bed.
Sigh...back into the cozy bed. Ready to - finally - fall asleep.
And doesn't Miss decide to wake up. Get up. Fall down our little stairs into our room (I know, just like bloody Christmas. We should probably do something about that...yawn...).
This meant we were both out of bed right quick, although Mr was quicker. As I snuggled back down (as much as I could with an eye shield on) I could hear the wail trail down the hall as he was tucking her back into bed: "I want to sleep in Mommy and Daddy's bed!"
Of course sleep, per se, didn't happen. In she squirms, right between us. Gets her blankie all tucked around her and her animals arrayed precisely...settles down...and sneezes.
Really sneezes. We hold our breath....
"I need a tissue", says a little voice. (We are out of tissues upstairs.)
"We are out of tissues upstairs, honey", says one of us - by now, in our sleep-deprived state, we are indistinguishable.
"There are tissues downstairs", continues the polite, wide-awake sounding voice, "You could get one for me".
The Mrs seems to blog a lot about books, food, food failure, and eyeball surgery.
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