Anyways, for the last few weeks, our glorious streak of 'bed at 7pm and sleep 'til 7am' has been replaced with several craptastic wake-up times, such as 2:30am...3:30am...and there was even a 12:30am wake-up thrown in there for good measure. I think he wants to make sure I don't get too comfortable; gotta keep Mom on her toes at all times.
So on Friday night, I woke up not to baby coos or Scotty's rustling, but to the sound of the microwave. Had my five month old finally figured out how to heat up his own milk? Could I be so lucky? Considering he cannot yet roll from back to belly, that would be a resounding...no.
Instead, I found my husband in the kitchen. Brian, current owner of a fairly miserable head cold, had woken up to heat up more Thera-Flu. Poor guy.
I headed upstairs, slightly irritated that my pleasant night of sleep was yet again disturbed. If one of my boys was sleeping, it seemed like the other one was not...and if Scotty slept through the night, Brian did not.
I was cataloging these thoughts as I lay in bed, trying desperately to fall back asleep when I heard another familiar sound: Scotty was up. The clock read 3:25am.
I am never going to get to sleep for more than 6 hours, am I?