I mentioned a post or two ago that we had moved Caedmon out of his crib and into a toddler bed.
Here's a picture of that little bed in Cade's room...
...at 10:30 last night. Because as excited as he was about his new (to him) bed, he never actually seems to want to sleep in it. More likely than not, we find him here in the middle of the night:
A little bit in his room, but mostly in the hallway. This means that when Atticus wakes up screaming and crying from a nightmare, it also wakes up Caedmon. Which is something special, let me tell you what.
The good news is that Atticus's night terrors/ nightmares/ whatever the heck they are have slowly but steadily been improving. He tends to have fewer per night, and he calms down much more quickly than he used to. For his part, it's generally pretty easy to calm Cade down, and I usually use the opportunity to dump him into his new bed so that I can shut the door and he hopefully won't wake up at the crack of dawn.
Which never works, by the way.
My gosh, that kid. That kid. Since moving into his toddler bed (or really just out of his crib), I swear he must wake with the birds then stand in his room, ear to the door, just waiting to hear the slightest semblance of movement among the rest of us. This means that most mornings I feel like a hostage in my own bedroom, because try as I might (and I have tried just about everything: tip-toeing, crawling, sprinting, slithering across the floor), the second I set foot out of our bedroom to try to sneak toward the bathroom, Caedmon comes bounding out of his room, face wreathed in smiles, excitedly asking, "IS BEDTIME OVER YET?" And that's on a good morning, the ones where Derek doesn't have to get up at 5:30 for work. Because when Derek gets up, Caedmon also gets up. Oy.
Also on the Caedmon front- he must have recently come to the realization that Hey, wait a second- I'm two. Two years old. WHY THE HECK HAVE I BEEN SO SWEET AND DOCILE AND ACCOMODATING? I've wasted precious months of one of the most tyrannical years of my life! Oh, well; better late than never MUAHAHAHAHAHA!
Cause yeah. Most of the time he's still sweet and docile and accomodating. Then he goes all Sybil on me and has a meltdown or freaks out because I won't let him wear his favorite (heavy, warm) sweater or demands that I get him his milk RIGHT NOW. Basically, he acts like a two-year-old.
This means he's been spending some quality time in the corner and has gotten spanked more in the past two weeks than he has in his entire life. This is still new enough to him that his response is one of abject heartbreak, which often makes me laugh, which makes him throw himself dramatically across his bed (at least he uses it for something, right?), which makes me laugh harder.
Then he crawls into my lap and says, "I love you, Mommy," and "Pretty Mommy," and "Can I have a kiss right here, Mommy?" and I decide maybe I won't kill him after all.