Go To Sleep, Andy!

A friend warned me that after about a week or so of not having had the pacifier, it would finally sink into Andy's head that it was gone for good, and he would have an absolutely awful night as he coped with the loss.  He would be up all night crying and asking for it, and I believe the word she used to describe this event was "hellish."  She was spot on, and we had that night last night.  Andy was wide awake at two a.m. begging for his binky and he didn't stop until after six in the morning, when he finally just passed out from sheer exhaustion, his mouth making little sucking motions around a ghost binky.  If tonight is anything like last night, I may start researching military schools for toddlers.  I just hope my own lack of sleep and crazy soup of pregnancy hormones doesn't lead to me do anything rash, like choosing a military school that is out of my budget.

It's amazing how absolutely frustrating these children can be at times- but how you still find yourself googling the lyrics to "Where is Thumbkin?" because you know it will make them happy.  And how you can be totally sleep deprived and exhausted, but when they snuggle against you during your nightly story time, you basically find yourself forgetting how freaking tired and just plain shitty you feel, because your little boy is abruptly back to being perfect again.

Two Andy moments from the weekend that made me smile:

(1)  He found the baby oil, and because I've been Yes Mom for the past few days, I went ahead and opened it for him.  What's the worst that could happen- oil all over my rugs?  Oil all over his clothes?  He might drink a little baby oil?  Eh.  I handed over the opened bottle of baby oil, went back to what I was doing (I want to say it was string cheese-related), and when I looked back over at Andy a minute later, he had set the baby swing to vibrate, plopped into the vibrating seat, pulled up his pant legs, and started to massage his calves with baby oil.  It was the funniest thing I had seen in a while:  Andy Berger, weirdo pervert in the making.

(2)  On Sunday night, I asked Andy what book he wanted me to read him. He usually picks out his book of choice from a highly organized slop pile of children's books scattered haphazardly on his bedroom floor.  Andy leaped off of my lap and, instead of choosing from one of his children's books in his room, ran off into the loft where Chris and I keep our books.  He came back with a copy of "Hamlet."  "I'm not reading you 'Hamlet,'" I told Andy.  "Pick something else."  He ran back into the loft and returned a minute later with the atlas.  "This works," I shrugged.  "Once, there was a magical, mythical place called 'Phoenix....'"  Andy Berger, weirdo librarian or cartographer in the making.

I will hold on to these two funny memories from the weekend at two a.m. should the little guy wake up again in another state of panic.  As I told Andy at four thirty this morning, there's no going back now.  It's been too many days.  The goddamn binky is gone, and you need to go to sleep.  Otherwise, I'm taking away the baby oil.  Also the atlas.