Yep, Ehren sleeping in his crib is going well, thanks for asking.
It’s been a week now and his why are you doing this to me wailing time has decreased significantly from 33 minutes the first night to right around five minutes by night #3. I no longer think I’m abandoning him or that he thinks I am; I know it is the best thing for the both of us. I just don’t want him to think I don’t want him around.
Which, I suppose, I actually don’t. Not in my bed, anyway, as the other two were until they were more than six years old. Sometimes, a 12-year-old Jordan would join her brother in bed with me and it was a big ol’ kickfest to the face until my alarm went off the next morning. Ehren is a much bigger baby than those two ever were, and he’s strong. He hurts me and, thinking my howling protest is the height of hilarity, starts pulling my hair while punching me in the face. It’s now also time for him to play on the floor and not in my lap.
Jordan starts high school next year, two years later than planned, yet, I suppose, right on time. Last night was registration for the Challenger League, a division of Little League Baseball for special needs kids. This will be her fourth season which made it all the more odd when we walked in and one of the moms pantomimed swinging a bat while asking Jordan if she was playing this year. One: we’re standing in the registration line, so yeah, we’re probably playing. Two, even if it’s hard keeping 40 kids’ disabilities straight, you should know by now she’s not deaf. Three: I don’t think an air bat is the ASL word for baseball.
Jon Alex is going to camp this summer. In freaking Missouri. For nine days. Talk about sleep-training. This may just be the trick to his keeping up with his glasses, losing the annoying little brother shtick, his chronic insomnia and companionate waking me up at one in the morning to ask why would Galileo think planets had ears…I mean, isn’t your first trip away from home supposed to be the light switch to instant maturity?
Other unicorn sightings in comments…
“He hurts me and, thinking my howling protest is the height of hilarity, starts pulling my hair while punching me in the face.” Had I not known that you were talking about a wee child I would slipping you a card to a shelter and planning your escape.
I know! If it sounds that violent, it’s because it is. Shelter card accepted if it’s for the Four Seasons…