Return of the Riot: Part Two
In my last installment your hostess was knee deep in prayer for sleep. Those bags under my eyes? Too big to carry on. FAA Guidelines required me to check those bad boys. Mama was tye-uhrd. So tired that I actually considered a 14-hour train ride back home alone with an infant. It would have given me a few days extra after Mr. Sybarite had to drive home, which meant Bunni's baby-friendly auntie, grandma, grandpa, uncle and cousins could lighten my baby-caring load a bit. But fourteen hours folks, without anyone to spell me.
Yeah, fatigue-induced delirium.
Anyway, the morning of Mr. S's impending departure, Bunny Bu woke up - as per usual - at the hairy butt crack of dawn with one very full diaper. Changing her did little to ready her for more sleep. That's when her daddy took pity on me and decided to try to get her to fall back to sleep the only way she knew how: by bouncing her on a yoga ball. Within seconds I gratefully fell back into a deep slumber; only to wake to a terrifying thud, and howling.
The ball had burst. Literally. As in, out from under Mr. S and baby Bu. Dumping them onto the cold, hard floor. The ball had burst figuratively, too. It was now time for two things: to go home, and to get our little girl to learn how to sleep.
But how? If I told you the answer would be found at a truck stop off Interstate 5, would you believe me?
Until the next installment: 10-4 good buddies. Over and out.
Yeah, fatigue-induced delirium.
Anyway, the morning of Mr. S's impending departure, Bunny Bu woke up - as per usual - at the hairy butt crack of dawn with one very full diaper. Changing her did little to ready her for more sleep. That's when her daddy took pity on me and decided to try to get her to fall back to sleep the only way she knew how: by bouncing her on a yoga ball. Within seconds I gratefully fell back into a deep slumber; only to wake to a terrifying thud, and howling.
The ball had burst. Literally. As in, out from under Mr. S and baby Bu. Dumping them onto the cold, hard floor. The ball had burst figuratively, too. It was now time for two things: to go home, and to get our little girl to learn how to sleep.
But how? If I told you the answer would be found at a truck stop off Interstate 5, would you believe me?
Until the next installment: 10-4 good buddies. Over and out.
oh honey! Oh my gosh, what a scary happening. Damn yoga ball. But it is symbolic, little girlfriend needs to learn to do the sleeps on her own. But if you've been over to my cyber zipcode you know what I'm up to...If not, do stop by. And better than that? Let's chat. Big love atcha.
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