Ike woke up at 1:30 a.m. this morning and stayed more or less awake until 5:30 a.m. "More or less" consisted of:
3) flailing around on our bed
4) saying "ow ow ow"
5) completely freaking us the fuck out
6) because what's ow? WHAT'S OW?
7) settling down for a short doze while draped across my body
8) while clutching fistfuls of my hair, the new hotness in security blankets
9) waking up again to crawl on top of my face
10) and starting all over with the crying/whimpering/flailing/owwwww business.
I really figured the night would conclude with him barfing on my face or something, but that never happened. Nothing really happened. He fussed and howled and tossed and turned and did forehead-stands on my chest for awhile and just when Jason and I both gave up on sleep and productivity and not looking like saggy-eyed monsters all day...his complaints suddenly ceased and he dropped off to sleep like a perfect-haired angel child.
And that's all I've got. That's the whole story. It's been 26 months, 100-odd weeks, 780-odd nights later and it's still "probably just gas."