Disclaimer: This post is aimed at the aunts and uncles and grandparents… If you aren’t one of these types, or don’t feel the urge to gawk at endless baby photos of someone else’s kid, you should probably just keep moving.
What I want to know is: After a night like that why do I still think he’s so cute that he deserves having his picture taken?
I’d say the last three nights have been the worst ever, but the truth of it is that I don’t remember three nights ago AT ALL. But two nights ago he ate every two hours, all night. What was nice about that night is that he never really woke up completely, so it was quiet and easy, if sleepless. LAST NIGHT I was awake for two solid hours with a hyper-active, defiant child who just wanted to play, play, play as fast as he could. Crossed, he switched that to full-bellied screaming. I dared to shut the blinds to remove the distraction of outside floodlights, and MY did he scream. Combine these rough nights with two incredibly busy days for me and I am walking dead. If I can still walk.
Oh yes, I can walk. I walked all the way to the living room to grab the camera to show you this:
See, no matter how little sleep I’ve gotten or how irrational, irritable, and despairing I am during the night, as soon as the sun comes up I think the kid is just irresistibly fun and cute. This makes no sense, but Mike tells me it is because he is my son. I envision many private moments laughing at my kid’s bad behavior in years to come.
Well, this morning he was just plain cute. He smiled at me twice, something that’s still brand new and rare – there is video footage to prove it. And he rolled from his tummy to his back – sorry no video footage here. The little stinker was lying on his tummy in his activity gym and fussing up a storm. Next thing I know he rolls halfway off it, spits up, the fussing stops, and there he lies, transfixed with all the color…
…OF THE BROWN COUCH.
Now that was $30 well spent, I tell ya. But then he invented a game: kick the bars of the activity gym to make the whole thing shake violently. Oh, the fun. Inescapable fact: I gave birth to a boy.
I leave you with a video of his favorite, favorite place in the whole world: his changing table, wherefrom he beholdeth ye olde African bow and sheath Mike brought home from Tanzania two years ago.
Sometimes I feel like a bad mom for having a lethal weapon hanging over my child’s changing table. Sometimes I feel like a good mom for having such an attention-grabbing object at his disposal there. He loves him some diaper changes. Sometimes I feel like it doesn’t matter if it’s a lethal weapon: IT WAS THERE FIRST, KID.