Since 12 AM my little Jim has had a quintessentially bad day:
- 12 AM: Woken up whimpering and come to sleep in my bed
- 1 AM - 3 AM: Thrashed around until my warnings reached that cold and calculated "I'll put you outside in the cold if you don't stop wiggling!". (not really, but damn it feels about right at 2 AM)
- 3 AM: Bonked me on the head until I woke up and yelled at him.
- 4 AM: Woke up very thirsty and cried piteously until I got him water*
- 5 AM: Woke up crying because his knee still hurt** - and I couldn't find the syringe to give him Motrin.
- Finally got some Motrin at 5:30 when I gave up and low-ball estimated the amount to give using another syringe. He probably got 1/2 a dose, but it worked apparently.
and to top it all off! Drum roll please!!!
- 8:30 AM - WHOMP! He fell out of my bed.
Really. I almost had a hard time feeling sorry for him. Really.
Then.... Then I thought about all the times I made my Mom's life hard when I was having bad-day issues. I need to call my Mom and say "Thanks for hugging me AND not putting me out in the yard."
In his defense:
* It was really, really dry in the house last night, I GRUDGINGLY got me some water too.
** He had said his knee hurt when he came to bed at 12 AM, but his explanation was sketchy, so I kinda dismissed it as a dreaming-while-awake issue. He said he "I hurt it on Sissy's frog", and the only frog I could think of in the house was her humidifier. Turns out he fell getting out of the car yesterday, in the garage - he banged his knee. What did he trip over? A stuffed frog that lives in Daddy's car. Duh! I didn't know this until my husband tried to "help" with that explanation. GRRRRR! Couldn't he have told me when it happend so I could have administered a pain reliever?