Oh and for all you folks stateside, Happy 4th! Please be careful not to shoot off any limbs with your fireworks!
Now back to the scheduled programing.
Today, in the wee ungodly hours of the summer morning my dad comes in my room. He's super quiet and whispers that my brother hadn't slept all night. In fact, he was so hyper and awake that my stepmom didn't get an ounce of sleep. My dad's solution? Stick the little devil in bed with me.
It was at this point that I was wondering why my dad even bothered being so quiet this morning. It wasn't like I was going to be getting anymore sleep anyways. Luckily, after a bit of wrestling and a lot of lullabies, my baby brother finally fell asleep at 6:56 am. Unluckily, I noticed that while I as trying to get him to sleep his sippy cup was knocked over and water (don't worry, I double checked) was all over the top half of MY side of the bed.
My head is pounding, and all I can think is SLEEEEP.NOW.NOW.UGH. So I blindly reach for the towel that I forgot to put in the towel hamper last night from my shower, folded it, then placed it on the wet spot on my side of the bed. Of course, now I know doing that was unwise because my towel was still damp from my shower last night..... Oh well it's not like I noticed at the time anyways. I'm lucky my half awake brain even thought to grab something absorbent.
Barely two hours later I feel little hands beating my face and "Izzi, Izzi, Izzi!" being screamed. Maybe he thought I was dead? I have no idea. All I know is, there is no reason whatsoever to beat someone with tiny baby hands. Ever. No. It's not cool.
And I told my brother this repeatedly as I scooped him up and dumped him on my sister's bed. I then retreated under the covers of my own bed, however my plan to just dump him on my sister failed due to the fact that she's notoriously impatient. Only fifteen minutes in and she gives up on trying to put him back to sleep.
So I'm awake now. Holding the little devil known as Steven, about to put him down for his afternoon nap. He's turning two next month. Oh someone help me. He has already learned how to throw fits at grocery stores, and even worse, he lies. A lot. You'd think almost two year olds wouldn't know how to lie, but they do. They lie when they get into your stuff, or when they eat all the candy that was supposed to be too high for them to reach, and sometimes they lie for no reason whatsoever. And the worst of all lies, he tattles on people when nothing happened. It does not make things fun when we have people over and he accuses us of ridiculous things.
All I can think is to be patient. In a matter of two years I'll be out of the house. In college. Where no babies will be slapping me in the face with their tiny baby hands trying to wake me up.