Having children means never sleeping again

I went to bed at an unprecedented 9:00 tonight. I was soooo damn tired for no damn reason. I lay in bed with Belinda, drifting in and out of consciousness while she watched season 8 of Scrubs. Got to the end of the disc and turned off the tv to hunker down for legitimate sleep and not ten minutes in, the boy starts making noise. Classic case of binky overboard. I picked the evil suckbubble off the ground, stuck it back in his mouth, kissed him goodnight and walked away. Bel brought him into bed. Gavin decided it was playtime now and proceeded to toss and talk and sandpaper my chest with the little traction bumps on the soles of his footie pjs. Back to the crib with him! I figure he can "da da da dee dee" to himself all he wants and crash on his own, and that seemed to work fine till I hear a thud and a "WAAAAAH!" I rush in, thinking he's hit his head or something, but intead feel the binky underfoot and realize he's just chucked it across the room and forgot he couldn't summon it back. Great. Re-bink, re-blanket, good night. It's been variations on that theme the last couple hours ranging from "I dropped it again for the 3rd time" to "I've got my finger stuck in the same hole it got stuck in at nap time". As I write this, he's in there, mocking me. Contemplating his next assault on my last nerve. I'd be angry if he weren't so gorram cute! He just looks up at me with that innocent cherubic face as if to say, "I'm the baby; gotta love me!" Yeah, I do, but I'm not putting up with this crap when he's 15, I can tell you that much. Good night, folks.

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