“I see you!”
“Mama! Where are you?”
“Papa! I go swimming!”
“I go bye-bye!”
“Oh, no. It’s ok,”
In addition to learning at least 20 more animal names, singing the A B C’s, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and Jesus Loves Me, pretty much in their entirety.
She’s widened her picky eating to include apples and peanut butter, cucumbers, edamame, sausage, bacon and the occasional clementine.
And last night, after an incredible marathon of non-sleepage, she zonked out for 12 hours- getting up three times, but putting herself back to sleep every time requiring no help from her parental units. After a lovely night of rest, one lovely night of rest I found myself marveling at the cute, little pudgy baby boy at the diner over breakfast and wondered aloud if it might be time to just bite the bullet and have another one.
Rich had such a look of surprise he nearly choked on his pancake.
What is this sickness that after we have suffered, cried, languished, prayed and dragged our exhausted bodies from bed over and over again for a year and a half that after one night of rest, we would consider doing it all over again?!?!?
I want to know what this chemical is that makes Mamas think such things even after they KNOW what labor is. How difficult breastfeeding is. How much they love when their pants fit and how they can eat goat cheese and red wine and cold cuts just swimming in nitrates. How can one night of sleep erase two years worth of craziness?
It was fleeting, I assure you. A second child is still not in the cards for us. Maybe ever. But at least for a while.
I’ll make sure to take all proper precautions that it doesn’t happen again. Avoiding cute babies in diners, numero uno. Even if he was wearing the sweetest little onesie I’ve ever seen. Like, ever. And his cheeks. Good Lord. The cheeks. And what are the odds of getting two non-sleepers in a row? REALLY?