It was a rough weekend here, at the Non Stepford home. Friday night, Cubby was up every. single. hour.
Turned out that the baby food I’d given him had milk in it. For some reason, it never dawned on me that I should check a ‘meal’ jar of baby food for milk. Desserts, sure, but not meals. And Cubby is our first kidlet that has ever had any food sensitivities. So, that was miserable. Told Wolf when I figured out what it was, and reminded him that we have to be super alert for dairy and this kidlet.
Had a nap Sunday afternoon.
Woke up, and Wolf announced, “Guess who had pudding!”
I stared at him. “YOU get to be the one up with him tonight!”
“Uh, you fed him DAIRY! That means he’s going to be up all night!”
“I didn’t feed him dairy!”
I stared at him some more. “I don’t know what alarms me more, that you don’t know pudding is made with MILK, or what you think it IS made with! What DO you think it’s made with?”
Fast forward to last night, and sure enough, every hour, Cubby is wailing.
I may or may not have commented a few times to Wolf’s sleeping form, “Thanks for the pudding!” and “Pudding! Great idea!” in a very loud voice.
That I only commented, and refrained from physical violence is a testament to my self control. I may have considered throwing a package of pudding cups in the freezer, and then, once frozen, putting them into a pillow case and beating him with them as he slept.
May have. I mean, sure it would’ve taken time, but it’s not like I was getting much sleep anyways.
But I didn’t. And was proud of myself for my restraint in the face of severe provocation.
Discovering, however, that he left me with barely a cup of coffee this morning, and didn’t put on a fresh pot before he left made me reevaluate that.
I mean, seriously, cause me to be up with a baby all night, and then not provide the initial pot of caffeine?
Someone likes to live dangerously.