This morning my alarm went off at 6 am, just like every other day. I hit the snooze and went back to sleep, just like every other day. Stephen poked his head over his crib rail so he could see into our bedroom and said, “Hello, Goose (that’s what he calls Steve). Mama, out!” JUST LIKE EVERY OTHER DAY. Then he came walking into my bedroom.
That’s right, friends and neighbors. My son has learned how to climb out of his crib, and since he sometimes wakes up at 2 in the morning, he now has the freedom to let himself out and wander around the house. Let’s add to the mix. He can reach the deadbolt and doorknob now, and he knows how to use them. Oh, good Lord. It’s a perfect storm for my ass to wind up on nationwide news wearing a stupid Hello Kitty nightshirt crying that I didn’t hear him leave the house and I just want my son back while Nancy Grace posts pictures of him and talks about what a terrible mother I am!
Okay, deep breaths. Count backwards from ten. Calm down.
This is my revenge for having a baby that slept through the night since he was six weeks old, isn’t it?