Noah has woken up in the middle of the night four times in the past week. This is hugely unusual for him -- he's always been the kind of sleeper I don't tell other mothers about, lest I get pelted with Starbucks cups and small pieces of occasional furniture. Down at 8:30 pm, puts self to sleep, up at 7:30 am, hums and reads quietly to self until 8, down again after lunch and -- after a few minutes of shrieking and jumping while I remind myself for the millionth time to tighten the crib screws, dear LORD -- stays down for at least few hours.
See? You don't talk about a sleeper like that. I can feel your anger right now; your breath is steaming up my monitor from here.
But lately he's been waking up and talking about bears. Which, okay, not so much "talking" as waking up crying and saying "ABEAR ABEAR ABEAR" over and over.
Not to impress you too much with my deductive reasoning skills or anything, but I think he might be having nightmares about a bear.
I wrote that 20 minutes ago, according to the clock on my computer and the amount of dried drool around my mouth. Yes, I fell asleep while writing my own blog entry. Somewhere, a black hole collapsed with a huge yawn and Narcissus just dozed off and drowned in the pool.
It's fitting, since the point of that story (I think) was really just a long setup for HOW FLIPPING TIRED I AM. Whenever Noah wakes up at night, Jason brings him back to bed with us, because he's a sucker and can sleep through repeated kicks in the kidney. I suppose I'm a little more princess-and-the-pea about internal bruising.
This morning Noah woke me up at 5 am by repeatedly smacking me in the face with my own hand, while yelling HAND MAMA! MAMA! HAND! HAND! directly into my eye sockets.
This morning I gave him some blueberries and told him they were dessert. AND HE BELIEVED ME. AND IT WORKED.
I celebrated by helping myself to the last Snickers bar.
Next up: convincing him that a haircut = choo choo train ride. Because DAMN.
Oh, my God. I just wrote a whole section about our ant traps. And how I can't stop watching the ant traps, since the ants are going completely apeshit over the traps and it's only a matter of time before the entire colony is dead and I feel kind of bad about that, like the ants are all WE SHALL SURVIVE THE WINTER AFTER ALL, OH GLORY BE and really they're just delivering sugary crumbs of death, dee dee deeee, and I think I have probably watched too many Pixar movies and I JUST DELETED THE WHOLE SECTION ABOUT OUR ANT TRAPS. AND THEN I TYPED IT AGAIN.
I'm delirious, I think.
Here. Have another gratuitous bedhead photo. I'm out.
My biggest fear has come true: too cute and delicious, thus irresistible to abears.
(See what I did there? I brought the whole bear thing back, and then linked to an entry that actually made a lick of sense, and also, there's an ant trap under his high chair. I'm working in circles that you don't even know about, baby.)