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I really, REALLY, hate it when my husband is right. This is probably mostly due to the fact that I don't like to admit when I'm wrong. Me, wrong? Psh. Sadly, it turns out that I can't be right all of the time and, though I often like to boast of my mad intuition and superspectacular parenting skills to those who feel the need to offer me free advice, even I can fall prey to the beguiling of my precious.
Yesterday that demon-baby whined and whined and then he whined some more. First I thought that surely something must be wrong. He is the child who is happy. EVERYONE talks about it.
"He is the happiest baby I've ever seen!"
"Oh look at him; he's SO happy!"
Smiles and coos and adoration from all who cross his path. So if he is taking the whole day to whine, there must be something amiss. I started to get the picture when the whining would cease if I held him or spent 30 minutes rocking him to sleep so that he could nap for 20 minutes. I guess I just wasn't ready to admit it. He woke me up about a bajillion times last night and this morning my head is pounding and I'm quite sleep deprived. When my husband got home he said he could tell that I was really worn out "from the way you were sleeping." So, he left me alone for awhile and watched the little guy for me. But eventually his whining broke through my sleep and I got up.
"You're spoiling him. He's whining so much because you jump up and get him every time."
"Whatever Daniel."
So, Daniel goes to bed and I decide that Walker is tired because his eyes are red and he's rubbing them and he's whiney as can be.
"Time for bed, Little Guy." And I haul him to his room.
Let the SCREAMINGCRYING commence. I decide that I will give Daniel's way a try. I let him cry. It seemed like HOURS. It was actually only about 15 minutes. And suddenly, his screaming crying was giving way to rest.
Oh MY GOD HE'S SLEEPING. As I type these very words, he is sleeping. There is peace in my house.
I hate my husband.
