Yesterday Miles told me that it was okay for us to skip a few of his naps. He said he'd rather play with me instead. At the time I thought this was a lovely suggestion, so thoughtful of him. However, he played me like a deck of cards. Miles' ulterior motive was to teach me this very important lesson: Babies are never to be trusted. I trusted him when he cooed that missing a little sleep won't cause any issues. Was he being honest with me? Was my 12 pound ball of love being forthright with his dear sweet mama? Nope. Nada. No dice. By seven last night, he was so overtired that he cried for 90 minutes straight. And this cry fest was not a simple parade of tears and whimpers. He let loose with banshee-worthy screams. I looked for anger management class for him- or at least a 24 hot line that could talk him down. Surely those police negotiators could help in this crisis. Foolish first time parents that we are, Jesse and I ran through every illness that could explain his behavior. After we extinguished all rational possibilities, like ear aches and sore gums, the light bulb finally turned on- this kid is an infant zombie! At this point, we just had to ride out the tantrum. With many songs and back rubs, his fuss train ran out of coal. Jesse and I had to pull 20 minute alternating shifts. The question begs, did I learn my lesson? You better believe it; no more having the baby call the shots. In fact, today he asked to borrow the phone to make a local call. I knew not to give in because most of friends live out of state; he's not tricking me into extra charges. I wonder what he's got up his onesie sleeve now.
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