Wake up call
For whatever reason, I am usually the one getting up with C in the middle of the night if he needs something. “How did you sleep last night?” Husband will say, usually followed by my tired litany of how many times I got up for C, followed by my by then awake enough to be astounded. “You mean you didn’t hear him screaming over the monitor???” I’ll say, incredulously. Truth be told, Husband is great about doing the early morning “I NEED A WIPE!” hollers that we get a few mornings a week (that’s another post altogether). Frankly, I envy Husband’s ability to sleep through a hurricane, tornado, hail storm, ambulance in the front room, coyotes outside our bedroom window, or the sounds of the high school band wafting up to our neighborhood on football nights.
But every once in awhile, C will specifically call out for Daddy. Husband must be in tune to his own name, because when C called “Daddy!” one wee hour of the morning this weekend, followed by a more frantic, “DADDDYYYY!!!!!!” he managed to stumble out of bed. I blissfully rolled over, grateful that whatever was going on, it was clearly a Daddy issue. Those usually involve needing bandaids in the middle of the night for an owie, either real or imagined (Daddy is a much better bandaid administer-er, a talent I have acknowledged over and over to C in the hopes that some of those middle of the night owies will fall to Husband instead). Yet apparently there is a new skill C feels Daddy possesses: Bug wrangler.
“THERE’S A BUG IN MY TOILET, DADDY! GET IT OUT!”