3010

It was always hot.

I was the only one who thought so.  Everyone who walked in was delighted by the coolness compared to the triple digit temperatures outside.

But I was always sweating.

They even gave me a fan, but that just made me shiver from the sweat that dried on my exhausted body.

The room was more spacious than anyone expected.  We quite easily fit five members of my side of the family along with three of Cort’s in addition to the three of us.

And it still felt big.

But maybe that is because I suddenly felt small.

Even with the throngs of people coming in and out?  I felt that we were shielded somehow.

This was a room for miracles.

(Even if my miracle happened downstairs in a different room.)

I had everything I needed contained in this one room:

A Styrofoam cup full of ice water.

Sleeping pills.

My meals delivered.

My laptop and my phone.

A private bathroom with a much used grab bar.

A doting husband.

A happy baby (yes, I said happy).

In this room…

I slept better and harder than I ever have in my life.

I sniffed my baby’s head for the first time.

I sweated, and pushed, and cried, and shed all inhibitions in exchange for feeling better and having a healthy child.

I trusted completely.

I healed.

This room took care of our needs and made it ok for us to be partitioned and sheltered from the rest of the world.

Life was out there…moving and growing…but in here?  In this room?  Time stood still.

We were a small family:  a mom in her adjustable bed, a dad resting on a small couch, and a son swaddled and asleep on his father’s chest.  In the dark room we watched the Detroit Tigers sweep the Cubs.

We witnessed the departure of the King of Pop.

We absorbed the fall of an Angel.

We marked the exit of a treasured Announcer…all while being disconnected from the world…as a family.

We felt safe and untouchable here.

That is why, as I stood at the window in the first real clothes that I could squeeze into in days with my baby in his first real clothes of his life, I cried.

As my husband took our bags to the truck and prepared to usher his family…not just his wife…to their home, I wept.

This room was were our family had begun.

This was all my son knew of the world.  He was safe. I was safe.

Nothing touched us here.

And so much would once we left room 3010.

psst.  I am over at my friend, Natalie’s blog, Mommy of a Monster and Twins, today too sharing about a Monster Mommy Moment of mine.  Please tell me you can relate to this…it will make me feel so much better!

pssst again…I am trying to win a grant to fund my trip to BlogHer.  If you are on facebook, please click here to vote every day!

a packaged deal

I have had enough.

I am ready to purge.  To get rid of that which I do not need.

I am at my wit’s end with this and I am going to dump it.

I’m going to put it out there away from me, and hopefully someone stops by and picks it up.  Not for themselves, but to take away from me.

I mean, I guess if you are a masochist you could keep these things.  I suppose. And there will be a few of you I suppose.

But I am done with this stuff.

DONE.

In fact, I don’t remember ever wanting these things.  They just showed up.  And now I can’t GIVE them away.

But I am still trying.

So, that being said, the first item I am listing here is the a like-new Case of Guilt (made just for me by PPD, but is easily transferable to your particular needs).

The adhesive on this Case of Guilt is like new.  Seriously.  I realize it has been stuck to me for about twenty months now, but it hasn’t lost any of its cling. I am fairly sure–although I have long since lost the original paperwork–that it was was made with molasses combined with a super spray adhesive for extra powerful binding ability.

Or perhaps there is cement in there.  Like I said, I don’t have the original paperwork…only that which I could find on Google.

Either way?  It still sticks.

Also this particular brand of Case of Guilt is extremely emphatic.  It comes with a special built-in amplifying system to avoid ignored missed messages from the guilt.  So even if you are sitting in a loud movie without your kids?  You will definitely hear the Guilt booming right over the loudest theatrical gun battles telling you that you should be home being a more involved parent to your children.

PPD brand Case of Guilt also comes with a self-charging battery so it will never die on you when you want it to need it. In fact, in the almost two years that I have owned it?  It has never ever needed its batteries replaced.  It came with a lifetime guarantee to ALWAYS be there (the guarantee is transferable, by the way, so we can take care of that upon exchange).

It has unfortunately never failed me.  Even when I have been at work making money to feed my family?  It is there reminding me that I am not with my son.  It is never-ending and persistent. You can count on that.

I am throwing in two other items with this Case of Guilt:

Unreasonable Self-Doubt and Uncontrollable Paranoia

Both are also PPD brand and 100% compatible with the Case of Guilt.  In fact, the Self-Doubt and Paranoia were originally marketed as accessories to the Mom Guilt, but I am offering them all as a package deal.

Both are being offered as-is, although they have very little wear that is noticeable.

The Unreasonable Self-Doubt is scheduled to coincide when the Case of Guilt clicks on letting you know you are not living up to what people want.  Immediately the Self-Doubt will begin breaking down your confidence leaving you with virtually nothing to grasp onto that seems worthwhile.

The Uncontrollable Paranoia is meant to trigger the Case of Guilt.  It’s like a fail-safe for the Guilt.  The Guilt has never failed, but in the case that it shows signs of not igniting?  The Paranoia will guarantee it.

The entire package is being offered for FREE.

I do not want anything PPD Brand in my life anymore.

If interested, it will be on the curb.  Because that is where it has been kicked to.

The Yelling Contest

Five people around one table.

A meat, a veggie, a starch, and a fruit.

No utensils in the dishes…no passing…fend for yourself.

brothers on one side, me and mom on the other, dad at the head.

The kitchen is warm–so warm that the large front windows behind my brothers are foggy with steam.

There is the usual grumbling of what we each see that we are not a fan of.

There is the usual reassurance by my mom that we do, indeed, like those things.

“How was school?  What did you do? How was your math test?”

grumble grumble grumble grumble.

Discussion becomes just between Mom and Dad.  Work.  Boring.

Bored siblings start in on each other.

“Did you wear that shirt again?”

“Yeah, what’s it to you?”

“It’s stretched out.”

“So is your face.”

giggles.  “So is your MOM’S face.”

milk out of someone’s nose.

“you’re so stupid.”

“you are.  loser.”

“kids…that is not nice.  That is NOT how we talk to each other.”

“But mom, he wears that shirt every. single. day.  And he wipes his nose on it.”

“I’ll wipe my nose on YOU!” He flares his nostrils of doom at me.

“THAT’S IT!  YOU KIDS WILL EAT YOUR DINNERS AND QUIT BEING SO MEAN TO EACH OTHER!”

“Gross dad, food came out of your mouth.”

“I MEAN IT.”

Everything is quiet except for the scraping of silverware on plates.

“I need the butter.”

“your MOM needs the butter.”

giggles.

“oh guess what!  We did chair tryouts today and I moved up to 6th trumpet…from 10th, but I’ll probably still sit at 9th because Holly is still 10th”

“that is dumb”

“you’re dumb”

“that is great, honey”

And suddenly everyone is talking.  One louder than the other.  Competing for their space and recognition.

At the time?  I hated being forced to sit down five nights a week at five o’clock in the evening with no TV for dinner with my annoying family.

Now as adults?  My brothers and I beg my mom to have family dinners.  We miss the times together.

Are we any different than we were 20 years ago?  Not at all.  The same tired insults and come-backs fly from our mouths.

We still laugh at the ridiculousness of each other.

We still pick on each other.

My brother still makes jabs about how my mom makes a salad (but he eats it anyway…and I suspect she keeps making it that way because otherwise what would he bitch about?)

My mom jokes that it is hard for her to believe that we are all adults because dinner time?  Has not changed at all.

Dinner with my parents and my brothers make me happy in a way no one can really understand.

To an outsider–we are yelling and hating on each other.  Just ask Cort about the first time he sat down for dinner with my family.

But now when my brothers bug him about cutting up all his meat into little, bite-sized pieces before eating?  He slings the mud right back at them.

And we all laugh.

I hope to give this to my children.

I hope family dinner time is something we can keep up.

Because sitting face to face with your family and knowing what is going on in each other’s lives builds something.  It builds family.  It builds trust.  It builds togetherness.

Even when you’re busy picking on your brother’s weird nostril flare.

 MommyofaMonster This post was featured!

tiny reminder

Spring had come, and with spring, baby showers.

So many cute little jammies and hats and shoes and onsies and teeny tiny pants.

I sat in the middle of the almost finished nursery carefully cutting tags and placing items into a basket to be washed.

My first load of itty bitty items.

The socks were so small.  Would they get lost in the great big washing machine?  Would they get eaten in the dryer?

snip snip snip.

I held each item to my round, growing tummy.

I told Eddie how sweet he would look.

There had been quite a few showers, and as I worked through the pile, I remembered the guests at each one.

Who had given me these cute overalls, and who had gifted my son with the warm jammies, and who had squealed with me as I opened the hand-made hats.

I was happily snipping the tags off what I thought was the last blankie when I saw it.

It was wrinkled and shoved to the bottom of the pile.

The tags had already been eagerly clipped off long ago in hopes of already belonging in the rotation of clothing for a small one.

I picked up the tiny white onsie.

I ran my fingers over the two embroidered ducks and the wording on the front.

“Mommy and Me.”

I tried to brush the cat hair and dust from the front–clearly the cat had been the only warm body enjoying this discarded memento of the past.

I shook my head and threw it to the top of the pile in the basket– and in turn,  the memory out of the front of my mind.

And let my hands rest on my swollen middle.

As if he knew I was distracted, Eddie pushed a heel up and out near my ribs.

I gently rubbed his little foot back into a more comfortable position and realize…he will wear that onsie.

His older siblings never did.  They never made it to the clothing stage of life.

They  never made it to life.

But he will wear it.

He will wiggle and cry and sigh and giggle in it.

He will lie in my arms and sleep in it.

I picked up the harsh reminder again and looked at it.

Then, gently, I spread it across my tummy where Eddie rolled and flutter kicked me.

A smile for what would be spread slowly across my face and moistened my eyes.

Just as quickly as the sadness had come, Eddie took it away.

———

pssst.  I am guest posting today at the lovely Hannah’s place, Peggy Ann Design.  Name sound familiar?  It should!  She is one of my amazing sponsors! This month is the Month of Hannah!  Valentine’s Day, her (leap year) birthday, and her anniversary all in one month!  To help celebrate she asked little old ME to guest post!  yippee!!!

So hop on over to her place and leave a little love on this Friday, would ya?

uncomplicated love

The big brown chair.

When it was purchased there was no emotional expectation.  No one foresaw any moments to be had in the chair except lazy ones that matched the couch.

But the lack of expectations was a mistake.

That brown chair has become ours.  Mine and Eddie’s.

We melt into each other in that chair just minutes before bedtime.

He has his little yellow and green pipy and his well-worn lamby.

I am squished to one side in my fleece bathrobe while he is in a little ball on a pillow next to me.

My head rests ever so close to his soft, blond curls.

He is busy watching Wheel of Fortune and rubbing one of lamby’s ears across his nose.

He suddenly stops and turns to look at me.

Our faces are so close his little button nose is almost touching mine.

I can smell the lilac night time lotion on his skin.

A smile spreads suddenly under his pipey, and he quickly grabs the pacifier out of his mouth and leans in, mouth open.

His small, warm mouth covers mine quickly.

He giggles and whispers, “pssfff psssfff psssfff.”

His hand touches my check and he giggles again.

And just like that he pops the pipey back in his mouth and snuggles down under my chin.

But for me it is not over.  I sit their smiling and glowing from within.

My baby boy loves me.

Most people would stop here and say, “of course he does.”

But it hasn’t always been so evident to me.  That is the curse of PPD.

Those few minutes in the chair are ones that I will pack away in my heart and keep for always.

I wish Eddie could somehow also keep those moments in his heart.

Someday when he is a grumpy, angsty teen.

Someday when everything I do is wrong.

Someday when I am not there.

I wish he could see us like this.

Because it pains me to think he would forget these fleeting moments.

That he would forget the love between the two of us.

Completely unconditional with no complications.

promises kept

I could never have imagined the power behind the vows I was uttering.

I could never have fathomed that each line would come to fruition in fewer than six years.

For better…

we were three people who were once two, alone in a hospital room.  a family.

me drowsing–belly sore, limbs bloated, womb empty.

Cort resting–eyes closed, feet up on the little couch, head back, a small bundle on his chest.

Eddie sleeping–warm and dry, breathing in the world.

…or for worse…

All eyes on us–the poor children–as we lead the procession into the sanctuary.

We sat alone in the second row–behind only the widow, the preacher, and the eulogists.

Cort, me, Cody, Liz, Kenzie…and mom squeezed in from back in her row up to be next to her daughter to hold her hand and catch her tears. to be there for her kids.

The rest?  Is a blur.

…for richer…

we have each other.

we have a sweet boy.

we have a house.

we have two vehicles.

we have love.

…or for poorer…

We thought it would be me losing my job.

Every year the cuts got closer.

So close I actually saw MY name on a cut list while Eddie kicked happily and obliviously inside.

But it never happened.

I continued to work.

But he did not.

…in sickness…

Cort has a three scars–none even an inch long.

He doesn’t have an appendix.  It left him the same day his dad left this world.

I have one visible scar–probably around close to seven inches long.

It was the best way to become a mother and still stay in this world.

Cort has scars you can’t see.

Battle wounds from a verbally abusive, mentally sick wife.

I have invisible scars too.

Etched on my heart from mastering the art of losing.

…and in health.

Cort lounges sleepily on the couch only slightly aware that a curly-haired toddler is barreling toward him.

Eddie throws himself at the couch and climbs clumsily and awkwardly grabbing at Cort.

Once on the couch he steamrolls his daddy and monsters his way into position next to him.

Not to be left out, I pounce across the room and join the snuggly, giggly pile.

I do.

When Cort leaned in to kiss me for the first time as his wife?  We didn’t feel what happened…but we would soon find out.

Our whole world shifted.

I was syndicated on BlogHer.com

love wins

In an email from my mom not so long ago she praised my writing and mentioned that she didn’t know how I did it.

Besides making me smile all day (I like praise from my parents…it makes me uncomfortable, but I like it), it made me think.

I really don’t think I always had this talent.  Or at least it was just waiting around because my life was way too boring write about.

Until recently.

As in the past six years.

I’ve been blogging for almost four years and until I decided to talk about my depression, all my readers were friends and family whom I begged and harassed to read my blog (I am sure most of them do NOT miss the mass emails of PLEASE READ MY BLOG).

And then I started sharing about our other hardships:  Cort’s job loss, my over-commitment to jobs, Cort’s dad’s death, his grandpa’s death, our miscarriages…

There are my stories to tell now. And I love to tell them because not only have I found some much-needed support, but I have been able to honestly talk about things other people can’t.  I have been a voice for the silent.

But those stories are sad.  And it is draining to put myself out there with them.

And sometimes those sad stories get the best of me.

And they take over my brain and make me feel useless and overwhelmed and hurting.

They open a door for depression to creep out of its locked cage and seep into everything I do, whispering about my inadequacies, poking at my doubts, pouring salt into my already bleeding weaknesses.

When this happens? I fall into a big, dark pit and I can’t get out…

…until something happy happens.

And I don’t mean happy like me winning a Mod Tots giveaway (which I did…and yes, I am happy.  In fact I was sweating and shaking I was so excited).

Or happy like getting paid for my writing…writing that means so much to me.

Or happy like getting asked to contribute to someone’s blog or finding that someone is recognizing you on their blog.

All of those things are awesome.  They are huge.  I am blessed beyond words.

But somehow?  That big deep hole in my heart?  Needs something more.  Something bigger than me.

I have to do something to get out of the hole.  Nobody can pull me out.

Today I did that thing.

I am the senior class adviser at my school which means I am in charge of making sure seniors who wish to participate in the graduation ceremony order their caps and gowns.

Even without all the “extra” stuff, the basic package is still almost $50 with shipping and tax.

Did I mention I teach in a Title 1 school?  Not many of our kids have $50 lying around.

For the most part, the company that we go through works with them to get a payment plan together.

Today, though, another teacher and I were helping a senior get his stuff together.  A senior who has been through more in his 18 years than I can ever think to go through in my whole life.

I don’t want to go into specifics, but he has to work and go to school and support himself–completely.  As in living accommodations, bills, groceries, transportation–everything we as adults do.  Plus he NEEDS to finish high school.

He is a GOOD kid.

He doesn’t need to be saved or bailed out.

He needs to be loved.

Today another teacher and I bought his cap and gown.  He doesn’t know one of the contributors was me.  He doesn’t need to know.

I looked him in the eye and told him it was taken care of by someone who loves him and wants to see him step across that stage.

He asked me to tell the person thank you…and that he wouldn’t let him/her down.

Even if he doesn’t graduate and my money goes to an empty cap and gown?  that is not the point to me.

The point is that he felt love today.  because I know some days he goes without feeling any.

And doing that?  Giving my heart to a boy who just needs the love of a mom?

That pulled me out of my funk.

I’m back.

——

speaking of my writing, I am really excited about this big announcement at the Red Dress Club.

We are starting a memoir writing prompt each Friday (with a link up on Tuesdays).  Since the majority of the writing I do is memoir-style, I hope you will all enjoy my contributions to this.

And for those of you with a blog?  I hope that you would join in.  I would love to read your {true} stories!

belly laughs

I was prepared for the pain.

Four years earlier, Cortney had abdominal surgery to remove his appendix.  I remembered him holding his tummy as he shuffled around the house.

I wasn’t surprised that having a C-section made me look similar to his old man pose.

What did surprise me was how painful it was just to twist my torso to see Eddie in his little baby “aquarium” thing.  Or how much effort it would be to get out of bed, shuffle across the room, and lower myself onto the toilet to pee. And then getting back UP from the toilet?

I was tired a lot.

One of the first times I got up from my hospital bed and shuffled to the bathroom all by myself, the only people in the room to witness my triumph were Cort and Eddie, and to be honest?  Eddie did not cheer and hoot like I felt he should. Cort was only slightly more encouraging.

Anyway.  I had made it to the bathroom.  I had finished peeing. And I was just sitting there mustering up the energy to lift myself up to standing when I heard it.

A long, loud drawn out bit o flatulence.

And then?  laughter.

As I sat there in my gown with the mesh undies around my ankles, I put my hands up to my face and groaned.

Really, Cortney?

And he was STILL laughing.  And there may have been heavy breathing and then more laughing.

Ok, really?  Was his fart REALLY that funny?

I took a deep breath, grabbed the mesh undies with one hand and the grab bar in the other and slowly stood up.  I cradled my soft belly in one hand and adjusted my undergarments with the other.

He was still laughing.  It sounded almost painful.  Really?

I hunched over the sink washing my hands and looking at my greasy hair and pale skin.

He continued to laugh.

Finally, I opened the door and saw him.

He was sitting on the couch, our wee one in his arms, head thrown back, tears streaming down his face…laughing.

“Cort.  It was a fart.  It’s not THAT funny.  It’s sort of gross.”

He shook his head as his body erupted with deep laughter and tears all over again.

I shuffled to the bed.

“Seriously, babe.  Not that funny.”

He wiped the tears from his eyes while shifting our little burrito to his other arm.

“No, Kate…it wasn’t me.”

And the laughter started again as he threw his head back onto the window ledge.

“Wait…what?”

And then I got it.  He was pointing at Eddie.

“OH MY…” and the laughter started somewhere deep within me.  I tried to stop it, knowing how a belly laugh would tear at my wound, but I couldn’t stop it.

Tears streamed down my face–both from pain and from joy.

“That was such a…such a…,” I gasped, “MAN FART!”

And we both lost it all over again.

“No…stop…,” I begged, “I can’t….it hurts…ohhh!!!”

Finally our laughter gave way to heavy sighs and the wiping of tears.

Every now and then a chuckle would escape our lips and we would stifle it…trying not to hurt me again with a full on attack.

This little man….

Turned into this little man…

And his toots?  Are just as loud and ridiculous.

And they have not stopped being funny either.

Secret Mommy-hood Confessions Saturday

I really like that Kim does Secret Mommy-hood Confessions Saturdays.  I helps me vent out things that have been weighing on me all week.

So here is today’s:

I’m tired.

I know that is not a juicy one.  In fact, now you’re bored and will probably just move on, and that’s ok.

But I’m going to plunge ahead anyway, Ok?

This week totally exhausted me.  So much so that after getting out of bed this morning at 10:00 (thank you, Cort!), I played with Eddie for an hour and then passed out on the couch for THREE HOURS.

This week was hard on me even though it really wasn’t a bad week.  Ever have one of those?

I am tired of picking up after teenagers.

I am tired of students leaving things behind and then freaking out WEEKS later.

I am tired of having to say, “get back to work,” “let’s focus,” “talk while you work…WHILE you work,” among other things.

I am tired of giving a thousand chances to maybe get a D- instead of an F.

I”m tired of having to hound 18 year olds about graduation requirements.

I”m tired of doing more for less.

I also learned some exhausting lessons this week.

students never hear you the first time (this should not be knew, but in light of the week, it was frustrating).

adults can act every bit as immature as a 14 year old can.

adults can back stab you if they think it will get them in good with someone.

not many people can keep a secret.

massive week-long blog events that include a gazillion giveaways are incredibly rewarding…and exhausting.

I need to toot my own horn when I want to be recognized for something I am proud of.  Maybe others will pick up their horns for me too, but maybe not.  So I have to play LOUD–for myself.

It’s exhausting to be proud of yourself.  Many positive things happened to me this week–mostly in the blogging world–and keeping up with them left my head spinning.

But I will end this tired ramble with the things I am proud of, that I hope you will take the time to check out.

The first is huge.  HUGE.  I have a new button on my blog.  It looks like this:
I was syndicated on BlogHer.com

That’s right!  I am on BlogHer with my post My Mother’s Hands.  Because of tons of encouragement from this lady, this lady, and of course this lady, AND with Cort rooting me on, I shoved all my fear of rejection down and submitted five of my babies posts to BlogHer.

Knowing the talent that they usually pick up, I really wasn’t expecting to hear back (I know, I know…lame of me), but when that email landed in my inbox?  I FREAKED OUT!

Cort was gone to class and I just scooped Eddie up and danced and cried with him.  He thought his momma had finally lost it.

So anyway, please go read my post over there…and leave me some love and sparkles if you like it.

I have also been adding this little guy to a couple of my posts lately:

 MommyofaMonster This post was featured!

That’s right, the sweet and talented Natalie has taken notice of me lately (which makes me blush), and has featured me two weeks in a ROW on her Monster Likes weekend round up of her fave posts.  This week my writing tips made the cut.  Go check out who else she likes this week (always good reads, by the way).

Third, in case you hadn’t heard, I am now on the team at The Red Dress Club

I am all sorts of honored and still blown away that Nichole and Cheryl–two writers I hugely look up to–would even consider me to be part of their team, let alone ask me!  To me, this is exactly the thing that has been missing from my writing life.  It pushes me to read more, contact other writers, and think outside of my own writing box.  I love it.

Speaking of The Red Dress Club, some of you may or may not know that I have this blog:

this is where I do my creative writing.  Right now there is a piece of fiction I just posted–and I almost never write fiction–that I feel pretty good about.  I’d love for you to give it a read and tell me what you think.  It’s called White Agony.

Since I am listing things I am proud of here, I also still have Katie’s Bookcase:

I haven’t posted here in a while since I am in the middle of reading books…as are many of my contributors.  If you have read a book that you would like to submit a review for, contact me, and we will set something up!

Lastly, if you haven’t entered all of mine and Miranda’s giveaways?   You can find a list of all the links here.

More than one person asked me this week asked how I do it all.  Even my therapist wanted to know.

And I just shake my head.

I don’t know.  I really don’t.  I all I can say is, if you really, REALLY love something, you will do it.  If something brings joy to you in spite of the challenges it causes, you will do it.

Or at least I will.

But?  It will still tire me out.


Sometimes? My Kid is a Jerk

Tonight sucked.

Well it didn’t.  It was actually pretty great.  In fact, I was about to throw out a celebratory tweet or facebook update about how great of a mom I was tonight and how I rocked the socks of the home alone with Eddie while Cort had class deal.  Good thing I didn’t.  I would have been eating my words.

Cort left and we played for about 30 minutes and rocked out to some Little Einsteins.

I made dinner. We had mac n cheese and fruit salad.  Eddie scarfed down his pineapple and guava, but left the red papaya sit on his plate.  no biggie…he had a second helping of my awesome homemade Kraft mac n cheese.

Then we played some more until bath time…which is always a good time.

He helped me wash his hair (a new thing) by scrubbing with me and then pouring water over his head–rinsing all the pineapple juice and banana puree that he had managed to massage in at dinner.

After a quick dry off–he ran amok in the nude for a bit while playing a tambourine.

He even LET me put his diaper and jammies on him.

And in an unusual change of events, he even wanted to read books and snuggle through all of Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy (yes, we watch this before bed…it’s family friendly programing…and it’s educational.  Plus Eddie loves the music and clapping with the studio audience).

So the final credits rolled on Jeopardy, and I said, as usual, “Say goodnight to Louis.”

and he waved to the cat (as usual).

We rocked and sang and cuddled.

I put him in bed.

Then?  It’s like someone threw citric acid on the whole night.

We have had many, many, MANY great nights of me putting him to bed.

Tonight?  Was not one of them.

He cried.  Hard.

I rocked him.  Put him back to bed.

He cried.  HARDER.

I went in his room.  No pipey.  just tears and the shakey thing that happens when they can’t catch their breath from crying.

So I went and found the back-up pipey since his was no where to be found.

He was sort of warm, so I gave him some tylenol, rocked him, and put him back down.

Then there were cries like someone was eating his face.  They were awful.

I went in.  He stopped crying.  Just pointed.

No pipey.  I couldn’t find it anywhere.  He was all awake and chatty and so, in frustration, I set him out of the bed so I could look.

Neither pipey was ANYWHERE.

Dude.  And he just laughed and ran out of the room.

Damnit.

He was doing this crap on purpose.

He was being a JERK!

My kid was exhibiting jerk-like behavior!

I lost my…well…shit.  I lost my shit.

I didn’t want to yell at him, so I cried.  And cursed under my breath.

I sat that way for a few minutes while he went around chirping and playing with toys.

Then I marched into his room and tore that nursery from end to end until I found one of the pipeys.

I gave it to him, marched him back to his room, rocked him, and put him down.

It took TWO HOURS, loads of tears, and a number of swear words, but my kid is sleeping.

Wait…maybe I spoke too soon….

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