To my son, who woke me up this morning at 2:41 a.m. with a screech, thanks for the Helen Kellering (running your hands all over my face, in my eyes, up my nose, in my mouth, in my ears) that you did to be sure that I WAS the mom you thought I was. Because Lord knows how many nights you have awakened to find a strange mother catering to your ever whim. Try NEVER. I'm your same bitch, waking up to serve YOU, every night for the last 359 nights. Thanks for throwing me off from months 3-7 by sleeping 10-hour stretches in your crib without a wimper. Month 7 helped to wipe that self-satisfied grin right from my face and it hasn't been back since.
And to my husband, who offered me a slightly condescending speech about how if I just fed the boy in the middle of the night and didn't get mad I may be able to go to sleep faster, thanks for leaving your alarm clock on from yesterday so it could go off at 6:00 a.m. today, 34 seconds after I finally fell asleep from the aforementioned debacle with your son. Because I was so pleased with the alarm clock going off at 6, I allowed your son to play with it for 15 minutes this morning. The Boy's fastball has GREAT potential.