The boys. They wind each other up.
Yesterday, Reid was asleep before I got home from work. That’s pretty early for him.
Naturally, this threw his whole sleep schedule off. It was still dark this morning when he started making his prehistoric squawking noises, letting us know he was hungry.
Naturally, this woke Jack up.
Naturally, it was just after 5 in the morning.
Usually, I wouldn’t mind getting up with them. I’m a morning person. I’m usually awake then anyway. But last night was a late one. They happen for me now and again, where I have a night where I just can’t lay still.
“I’ve got it,” I tell Lara, when it becomes obvious that neither of them are going to settle back down. She needs sleep. Twelve hours with the boys every day. It’s like being in a Broadway show. Always on.
But with only four hours of sleep and no coffee in me, I could hear myself hitting auto pilot this morning. Falling back on phrases I heard as a kid, but never thought I would use.
“Because I said so, Jack.”
“That’s just the way it is.”
“Don’t make me tell you again.”
I appreciate the irony of someone who has a long-standing problem with authority trying to enforce unilateral authority over a 3 year-old, so you don’t need to point that out.
On these kinds of mornings, the ones where I can feel my lack of sleep up and down my spine, my parental shields are down.
I laugh at things I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. But it also means I end up saying things I never heard as a kid.
“Here are your pants. Please put them back on after breakfast.”
“Why?” Everything is ‘why’ now. Three year-olds are like philosophy majors, questioning everything and acting stoned.
“Because you can’t walk around without pants all day.”
“But I like them off.” (Jack removes his diaper.) “That feels better.”
I laugh. “I’m sure it does.”
Jack runs around his playroom. Reid sits in my lap, watching his brother and, I am convinced, counting the days until he will be able to run pantsless around the house.
“Come on, buddy. Let’s go get dressed.”
“But I don’t want to,” We walk to the stairs. He turns to me. “Carry me.”
“Because I don’t want to touch that stinky little butt of yours.”
He laughs. “It’s not stinky.”
We laugh some more. The boys.
They wind me up, too.