Regression

The Big Boy Bed experiment of 2008 may be drawing to a sad and pathetic close. Sam has been sleeping in his pack and play for the past two days/nights and we're contemplating just putting the damn crib back up. Why? Maybe it's because my 26 month old sonny boy has an immensely strong will. You see, even once it's dark and he can no longer read/play/run around, he proceeds to keep himself awake by singing just to fuck with me. Well, maybe that's not exactly why he does it, but he knows that it is our fondest desire to have him close his little eyes, so he keeps them propped open with special devices. Usually he gives up around 9pm. Unfortunately his bowels are also plotting our demise, so he's been waking up around 6 to make a nice fresh poop for his mommy.

This, as you can imagine, has resulted in a not-so-pleasant little boy. A little boy who choked another student in his class at school on Monday. And hit another one in the face. And sat on another, much tinier, one. A little boy who is continually tripping and falling, because he is so very very tired, and now has a big old bruise on his eyebrow. And all of that has created a not-so-pleasant mommy. And Allison. And Daddy. And even Lucy, to some degree, because she is frequently the victim of his toy swiping, cup stealing rage.

Yeah, we're a lot of fun to be around right now. You can imagine how much fun he was yesterday at the polls where we had to wait for 25 minutes with a bunch of nuns.