Kevin and I aren't amateurs. We have four kids, now - we don't panic over every scraped knee the way we used to. But at two a.m., when John was going on his fourth straight hour of screaming and wrestling us, Kevin took him to the E.R. This is easy since there is a great hospital right down the street. He had sounded a little croupy, but not as bad as I've heard - and that's what the doctors went with, even doing a standard x-ray to rule out a blockage.
Nothing. Home by four a.m., Motrin, bed. A little over an hour of sleep, then more screaming. I carried John out to the car and left the house, with its ten sleeping occupants, and drove around until the stinker passed out from exhaustion. I parked in a store parking lot and read a book and listened to birds hopping around on my van roof.
Hours and hours later, back at home and after more than half the day, Kevin came bounding upstairs to announce the appearance of a molar in John's mouth. Or two. Maybe more. Geez Louise. Of COURSE he's getting his two-year molars at fifteen months, since he had sixteen teeth by six months. Here are pictures of the sleep-stealing culprit over the past few crazy days. You'll notice he doesn't look the least bit concerned that he's been keeping us up.
Thinking he's a Wii Fit Champion:
Today. If he faced the camera, you could see the sleep deprivation in his eyes.
Yesterday. Finding a leaf and plotting how to keep us up all night later.