Greetings from the darkside

Ladies and gentleman of the internet, this blog is brought to you today, from the shady underbelly of parenthood. I'm sharing a twin size bed with America's hottest two year old and we're all about to die. Ok, that's a bit of an exaggeration, (and a nod to the movie Almost Famous).

We arrived at Nipper's parent's house, at 11pm last night. Jack slept for 3 hours in the car. So basically, he had a disco nap, and was ready for table dancing and bottle service. We let him run around for an hour or so, and then tried to reign him in for bedtime. Let the fun begin! He said NO to the crib, that was provided, NO to sleeping in the twin bed alone, and NO to Nipper and I moving more than 3 centimeters away from him as he slept.

Nipper was finally able to extricate himself, around 1am, and move to another bed. As Jack sprawled next to me, on the twin, the full size bed calling my name from across the room, I tried to will my body to be smaller, and my back to stop being so inflexible. "Suck it up", I thought. "The baby needs his rest."

By 4am, I was in a trance like state brought on by lack of sleep, and stress positions that only Dick Cheney could have invented. I realized I was willing to turn myself in, for any, and all of my my life's misdeeds, and was indeed masterminding unspeakable crimes from my 6 inches of mattress. Losing purchase, on the bed, and sanity, I crawled out silently, tapped Nipper, and said "your turn". From 4am to 6am Jack tossed and turned while Nipper silently lost his mind. At 6:15, he opened his eyes, and in a Disney forest animal chirp announced he was ready to go downstairs and see Poppa. Monster!

Tonight he goes in the crib no matter what, but I think it's important that women thinking of having children see firsthand, what this kind of sleep compromise can do to a person. Here is how I looked yesterday:

And here is how I look this morning.

I'm just saying...