. . .and the 11:14 p.m., and the 11:48 p.m., and the 12:10 a.m., and the 1:18 a.m. In these terms, you could say Lucas is a morning person.
The dog is not appreciating being chased by a crawling babe at 1:49 a.m. And yet we are up.
Lucas does not want to sleep anywhere but next to me in our bed. Mr. Trillwing can't sleep under these circumstances because Luke flails.
Mr. Trillwing needs sleep. And, in the hopes of letting me get the most sleep possible before my job interview, he spent last night on the couch while Luke slept/flailed next to me.
So tonight we've been taking turns with the little guy. It's my turn again. Ten minutes ago I noticed Luke has a fever, to the tune of 102.3. So I administered acetominophen. And now he's pushing his Elmo monster truck and making car noises. (I've learned, BTW, that little boys come hard-wired with, as no one has ever taught him to make such noises.) So I'm guessing the fever has gone down.
I've tried to explain to Luke that he's a year old and that, like a big boy, he needs to sleep in his crib.* He's not buying that argument.
Mr. Trillwing has twice now shouted "Fireplacer!" at the boy. From behind the bedroom door: "Fireplacer!"
I don't know what the fireplace we're going to do.
Damn. Luke just pulled himself up next to me, and he's still burning up.
*What does one do when one's one-year-old is already 32 inches tall,** and the baby books and crib manuals declare that no child over 35 inches tall should remain in a crib because he could fall out of it? I mean, it's not like Luke's going to climb down safely from his crib after leaning too far over the railing; he can't even walk yet because hey, it's much more efficient to chase the dog on all fours. And I'm not about to put him in a twin bed, even with rails on it, 'cause he wouldn't stay in it.
**Have I mentioned that at Luke's 12-month well-baby check up, he surpassed the 95th percentile for height but was in the middle of the pack for weight? I've taken to calling him "Stretch."