And Then It All Fell Apart

We'd made great strides here, people. In this house. Sleeping through the night, using the potty. It was great. For about five days.

Then, late yesterday, the shit hit the fan. Literally.

Dylan has been using the potty for "pee pee" on a regular basis. Even without my constant nagging. He would actually come to me and say "I need to go pee pee Mommy." Granted, after he'd gone, he'd stand up, give me a big ole smile and say "I want candy." So, I went to W*lGreens, bought a shitload of sugarfree candy and gave in. Whatever works. I am SO not above bribing. Remember that. I take & give bribes on a fairly regular basis. It might come in handy for you some day. I'm just saying.

So, last night Dylan was stylin' in his tiny, little boy boxer briefs and sweatpants. He'd gone all day without an accident. He'd actually gone the past three days without an accident. Then, after his nap, he seemed like he was a little wet. As if he'd had a tiny accident. Let's just say it was't so tiny and it wasn't pee. Bleh. BLEH. Let's also just say that those adorable little boy boxer briefs are no longer in his adorable little boy underwear repertoire. They currently reside in a plastic bag in the garbage can awaiting pick up on Tuesday by the ever faithful and beloved Gobbage Tuck. May they rest in peace at the most beloved of all places by little boys named Dylan, the dump. Amen.

Now we'll move on to little baby Zach. Who, for the past week or so has slept through the night, save for an occassional call for pacifier re-insertion. And, may I also give a Hoo-Yah I Love You to Fisher Price & the Soothing Seas Aquarium. If you have a baby, are going to have a baby or act like a baby yourself, get one of these IMMEDIATELY. I'm not kidding. I've even conveniently linked to Amazon to make it easy for you. Go. Now. We'll wait for you.

Are you back? Okay, good. I'm glad you listen to me. You're one smart cookie. Now, get thee's ass off the couch and get me a bottle of wine. No? Whatever.

So, back to Zach. Following Dylan's downward spiral last night, I think Zach decided he needed to wrangle himself up some attention. And not the good kind. Not the flirty, giggly, tickle-tickle kind of attention. The damn kid woke up, I kid you not, FIVE times last night. And it was Freakin COLD in my house. Which, come to think of it, may be to blame for his Night o'No Sleep. But whatever. Him waking up five times means I had to wake up five times, get out of my nice cozy bed, walk across the cold floor, go into his room, re-insert pacifier, turn on the Miracle of Modern Science Soothing Seas Aquarium and then head back to bed, across the cold, hard floor. Finally, at 5:45 I brought him into our room, fed him and forced him back to sleep until 7:00.

Oh, and the DOG. I forgot to tell you about Tahoe's frightening downward spiral last night. It wasn't pretty. I was in the kitchen making dinner while all the boys were in the living room. DJ starts calling for me by saying "Meghan. Come here. What's wrong with the dog?"
Me: "I don't know what's wrong with him. What's wrong with him?"
DJ: "Come here. What's wrong with him?"
Me, trying not to burn dinner: "Just a minute. I don't want to burn dinner."
I make my way to the living room and see Tahoe, on the other side of the room, standing up, but all wobbly like. It was like his legs didn't work and he seemed disoriented, which could have been related to the fact that his legs didn't work. I'd be disoriented too. I called him to see if he could walk across the room to me, but he couldn't. It was really weird and a little scary. We got him to lay down for a few minutes, at which point he seemed a little bit better. So, we got him up and got him to come out of the living room. He was still pretty wobbly, and thought he was in trouble because we were paying so much frenzied attention to him. Poor thing. He laid down and drank some water and then, as if nothing had happened, got up and ran outside to poop. And that was it. He was fine. He spent the rest of the evening with his head buried in my lap, which was either due to the fact that he thought he'd been in trouble and was trying to make up for it, or was scared shitless about what had just happened to him. I can't say I blame him.

So, the moral of the story? My Boy-child, Baby-child and Dog-child conspired against me last night to make my life miserable. I think they're out to get me. And that's not really a moral. But whatever. I need to start preparing for my Super Bowl get together. If the boys in my life will allow.