So, what is today, Friday? I don't know because my brain has decided to quit me and start it's own blog telling the world what a bad boss I am. Thursday night brought the end of our sleepless nights, or so I thought. I am dumb. He did fine on Thursday aside from waking at 6am. Whatever. I'm used to it by now. I'm also used to getting up in the middle of the night but that doesn't stop me from complaining about it endlessly, does it? Last night was round 7. Max brought the cry out at 12:30am. I let him go for about 15 minutes but when the "wah wah wah" escalated to "BWAAIWILLNOTSTOPAAAAA," we went in. Correction. Jeff went in. He brought him into our room and we tried to go back to sleep. Tried. TRIED REALLY HARD. Instead of sleeping peacefully LIKE A BABY, Max decided to perform his own mattress-based Cirque de Soleil number complete with acrobatics and random flailing about. It was as irritating as the REAL Cirque de Soleil. At 2:45, I heard a loud THWACK and then "GODDAMMIT" and realized that he had just punched Jeff in the eye. Earlier in the evening, while trying to fix our busted printer, Jeff had managed to give himself a paper cut on that same eye (yes, a paper cut ON HIS EYEBALL) so this made him writhe in pain, at which point he scooped the kid up to take him back to his bedroom. Now, Jeff has been super busy at work and had set his alarm for "sunrise" so I felt bad and went in to relieve him. After we argued back and forth over who would have the crappier rest of the night, he finally went back to our bed and I took over. I laid us both down and immediately Max popped back up and wanted to play. I tried several times to get him to lie back down but he wasn't interested. At this point, I like to call it a turning point, I. WAS. MOTHER. EFFING. DONE. I picked him up, plopped him back in his crib, remembered that my doctor told me that babies don't die from crying, told him goodnight and shut the door. He was now screaming like someone was prying his nails off with a blowtorch. When I got back in to our room, this transpired:
Jeff: Did you put him back in his crib?
Me: Yes I did. This is 100% ridiculous. He was just fine sleeping with us so there isn't anything wrong other than he is a master manipulator and we are stupid.
Jeff: Did you take the remote out of his bed? I threw it in there a minute ago.
Me: Oh shit! runs back in to get remote out of bed, screaming continues, comes back to bed
Jeff: Did you grab your pillows? I took them with me.
Me: GODDAMMIT! runs back in again to get pillows, more screaming, goes back to bed
Jeff: Do you think he'll go to sleep?
Me: I don't know but I sure am. There isn't anything wrong or else he would have continued to cry in here. He's crafty.
And then, silence. Seriously. Not a sound came over the monitor. I smiled and then terror came over me. What if he has chewed off part of his blanket and choked? What if I accidentally dropped a peanut in there even though we don't have any and he ate it and is allergic and has gone all anaphylactic? What if he climbed out and broke his brains? WHY IS IT SO QUIET?? All these things were floating around in my head, including some scenarios involving the light fixture dropping on him, getting his head caught in the slats and various kinds of impalement, but next thing I knew it was light out, Jeff was gone, it was 7:45am and he was still sleeping. I'm not going to admit that I took a teeny bit of pleasure in waking him up because that is MEAN but whatever. Turnabout is fair play, kid, and just wait until you're 15 and want to sleep until noon. Just wait.
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