As parents, sometimes we find ourselves "wishing away" our children's younger years. For example, "I can't wait until he/she is old enough to... b/c my life will be easier." or "I can't wait until my kid is in later elementary school and starts to really sleep in so I can FINALLY wake up whenever I want on a Saturday instead of considering 7 a.m. as a 'sleeping in miracle'." I've been guilty of doing this over and over. So recently, as Caelynn has grown taller and figured out how to open the fridge door (we have a newer fridge where the freezer is on the bottom and the fridge is on the top), we have loved that she will come down in the morning, grab her sippy cup of milk AND Matty's, give him his in his crib, and then go back to bed and lounge around. NICE. During the week, it doesn't matter b/c I'm up at 6 but on the weekends... it's AWESOME. Until one morning...
As it WOULD happen, it was New Year's Eve. Rich and I have rarely ever stayed up late to watch the ball drop. I mean, seriously. It's a ball that isn't even all that attractive that "falls" at the slowest rate known to man, and then confetti falls on people I DO NOT KNOW and we stay up for that? Seriously? I've BEEN in Times Square on New Year's Eve. We wisely followed the policeman's advice to "get out of the city before the ball drops or you could wait 3 hours just for the subway out of the city." The ball wasn't even that impressive. I digress.
I stayed up until a little after 11 and then hit the hay. I was awakened at 1 a.m. by my son SCREAMING in his crib. I run over there groggy and completely disoriented. I could tell by his cry that he was hurt but after doing the initial feel/sniff check (feel for any body part stuck in the crib slats and also check for a fever, sniff for a poopy diaper), I couldn't figure out what was wrong. He was literally SCREAMING, though, so I figured I'd run downstairs and grab his cup, which usually quiets him down. I was worried he would wake his sister. Oh THAT is rich! I run down the steps, fling open the door, reach for his cup (I knew EXACTLY where I had put it the night before after he fell asleep)...not there. I'm searching the bottom shelf, the door, behind the milk containers, and I'm quickly getting mad at my hubby. Now let me just say for the record...I adore him. But he has been known to move the kids stuff out of the way for that late night oreo attack while he chugs milk from the jug. I don't care...just DO NOT TOUCH THE KIDS STUFF! I was getting more and more mad and frustrated as Rich is snoring in bed, Matty is SCREAMING, and I'm not finding the cup I KNEW I put in there just 4 hours before.
I come up, in a huff I might add, and say, "RICHARD...WHERE IS HIS CUP?" He says, "I don't know - Caelynn has hers, I think." What? It's 1 a.m. Why in the world would that child have her cup? And suddenly it dawns on me - the little stinker woke up at 1 a.m., felt parched, went down, grabbed her cup AND Matty's, dropped his into his crib and most likely BEANED him with it! No wonder he was screaming! I go in - sure enough, there is his cup, still cold, still full, and Matty is wailing. I'd scream too if a several pounds, cold cup came careening on top of me while I was in a dead sleep. Took me until 2 a.m. to get him calmed down and asleep. Went down to the couch (my hubby snores - if I have to get up during the night with one of the kids, I have to go sleep on the couch b/c I'll never get back to sleep with him snoring. One of my pet peeves - cannot STAND the sound of snoring!)...was awakened by a crying Caelynn at 5 a.m. who was constipated.
Happy stupid New Year.
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