Our home study went great on Saturday- couldn't have been better. I'm excited that we are one step closer (and that's a big step) to a referral. Woo hoo!
L's mom was hospitalized on Thursday for a bad kidney infection and some heart issues, which may or may not be caused by the pain from her infection. We drove over yesterday as soon as the social workers left and spent the night at L's parent's house. We were able to visit her last night and today, and she was looking much better this afternoon. They are planning on doing a stress test on her heart tomorrow, and if all goes well, she will most likely get to go home afterwards. Poor thing, she has had a time of it!
On the way home, Hatchling was playing with his Mickey Mouse cell phone while sitting in his car seat. About the time we hit our hometown, Calliou called. I told Hatchling to see if Calliou wanted to come over for a playdate, which Hatchling promptly did. Calliou was agreeable, so I suspect he will be here any minute. He'll likely be disappointed that I'm not as nice as his
mommy, but maybe if I give him yogurt he will be appeased.
And now, more material for Hatchling's future therapist (you haven't had one of these in a while, I know you're excited!)
L's parent's house (am I using my punctuation correctly on that? I seem to have lost my grasp of how to appropriately use the English language...)
has a full basement, which sports a living area and a bedroom with a private bath, which is where the crib* is located (in the bedroom, not the bathroom)(and seriously, how many parentheses can I use in this ONE sentence?)(for the love).
So naturally, Hatchling is banished to sleeping downstairs in the crib, while we sleep upstairs in the room where we always sleep. As you know, Hatchling institutes a sleep embargo anytime we are not at home, so last night was no exception. It was quite late for him, probably 9 o'clock, before we even got him to bed. Then he screamed and cried for a bit, until L went to soothe him. L stayed with him till he fell asleep, and all was well.
Until this morning, that is, when Hatchling's screams of terror (yes, terror!)
awoke me from a rather un-restful slumber. By the time I managed to hop the baby gate and negotiate the extremely steep stairs, my poor son was literally shaking from his terror. Why? I have no idea. He has been there before, slept there before, been alone down there before, but by golly, he was not happy with his primary caregiver this morning. I pretty much felt like crap and let him get away with more than I should have all morning. We even watched the Wiggles, to which I am morally opposed. Ok, maybe not morally, but that's only because I haven't watched them long enough to form any opinions of their moral incorrectness. But seriously, a group of guys that sensitive? I have to think there may be some immorality in there somewhere. But I digress from my shockingly long and painfully boring story about what a terrible mother I am.
I suppose next time we will have to sleep downstairs with our poor, now traumatized, son. I know, my powers of deduction are nothing short of breathtaking, it's true.*The crib is, strangely enough, located downstairs in the basement, while upstairs there is a bedroom affectionately referred to as "the Big Bird room" (because of it's wallpaper and giant Big Bird stick-on things), which houses only a twin bed and an ironing board. It's all very mysterious. Ok, not really mysterious, but mysterious in the way things are mysterious if you happen to be an overly dramatic daughter-in-law, such as myself.
And now, I must stop writing, lest I expose you to too much of my inner crazy in one day. And also because it took me ages to type all of this, and it is now quite late, and I only have 24 minutes to make it to bed before I turn into a pumpkin. It's much harder to fit into my jammies when I am a pumpkin.