Five on Friday + 2

This is my Seven on Friday. Enjoy.

1. Mark decided he was going to sleep on the couch because he had been coughing all day, Otis was finally getting over his cough and we figured everyone would sleep better that way so I agreed. Otis and I went upstairs to bed, and I fully expected him to play for a little bit since he wasn’t sleepy and he was with me, the “fun” parent. So I snuggled into bed, turned the lights off, and Otis babbled and chased cats and basically had his own version of a Youth Group Lock-in.

2. It was getting later by the minute (because that’s how time works), and Otis was still having a wonderful time talking to the cats and getting out of bed periodically to check out the shoes in dad’s closet. I was so ready for bed, but I figured it was better to let him get it out of his system. He did lay down, and other than a little bit of fidgeting, he seemed like he was thisclose to falling asleep. Until I found out what that fidgeting was all about. He had taken off his pants and his (clean) diaper and the babbling was him talking to the (clean) diaper he was now hugging. Like this:

3. Here’s the thing. He was diaperless in our bed and he is not potty trained. At all. But his diapers are downstairs, and it’s, like 12am. I don’t want to go downstairs. I want to be in bed. Asleep. But the little fraternity boy I’m raising will have none of that. While I’m having this inner discussion about what’s worse, him peeing in my bed or getting out of my warm bed to go downstairs, he is escaping. He gets out of bed and starts chasing the cats again because, well, why not?

4. I immediately scoop him because homey don’t play that and put him in his crib which is in our room. I lay him down and like a turtle on it’s back he can’t seem to manage to stand up. He ends the struggle and just lays there. Quietly. So quietly that I’m pretty sure he’s fallen asleep. Fallen asleep in his own bed. HIS OWN BED.

I had done it. I had ended our co-sleeping without even trying. I WAS THE BEST MOM IN THE ENTIRE PLANET.

5. Before I’d finished writing my acceptance speech for the Nobel Prize for Superb Parenting in a Harrowing Situation I heard… trickling.

Pardon my french, but the little turd was peeing. In his crib. Without a diaper. Now I wouldn’t call him a turd if that’s all it was because those two things were my fault. I put him in the crib without the diaper. It was the fact that he was giggling the ENTIRE TIME.

6. I picked him up out of the crib where he proceeded to wrap his wet legs around me and I said, “Crap!” Because, well, that’s the nicest thing I could muster up at almost 1 in the morning on a work night. And you know how I said that he wasn’t talking? Well, he started talking. “Crap, crap, crap.”

We went downstairs to get the diaper I was too lazy to get 30 minutes prior and where Mark was sleeping. I haven’t talked about Mark since the beginning of this story because during this entire story he’s been innocently sleeping and coughing downstairs completely unaware of the shenanigans.

But you know I was pissed at him, right? Because he’s a husband, and that’s just his burden to bear.

Mark woke up when we got downstairs because Otis was acting like he’d just been released from prison and was running around the couch saying, “Crap, crap, crap!”

Mark: What time is it?

Me: 1 in the morning. He took off his diaper and peed in the crib so we’re getting a new one.

Mark: Do you think I should go to bed upstairs with you guys?

Me:

7. Otis went back to bed and this time he was kicking and screaming because who are we to take away his right to party at 1:30? Mark followed close behind (smart guy, right?), and we weren’t in bed longer than 30 seconds and this happened…

Moral of the story:
The fun parent can’t put the kid to bed, and if you’re worried your kid isn’t talking enough start cussing. Oh, and diapers are your friend.

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