I love my husband. He is a wonderful man who takes very good care of me and Kendall. He works his ass off and is incredibly helpful with everything. I am very lucky to have him. Having said all that, oh my God! I want to KILL him! Getting Kendall to take a nap these days is a battle of the wills equivalent to World War 3. He fights and fights and fights. I rock and rock and rock. He throws his arms, kicks his legs, screams, shoots me evil looks with the eyes he is willing with all his might to stay open. I just keep rocking, holding him tight. It’s quite exhausting, really, but I almost always win. It just takes time.
So this morning I am SO close to getting Kendall to go down for his nap. SO FREAKING CLOSE. Scott comes into the room with a paint can in hand (yes, we are STILL painting. It will. never. end.), and instead of making the observation that I am rocking his son to sleep and perhaps he should *quietly* make his exit, he says, “Oh… hey… what wall does this go on?” I shoot him the look, but he doesn’t move. I then carefully motion with my hand that is free to leave the room. Kendall is starting to pry one eye open. Scott sees this, “What? He’s already awake. Just tell me what wall to put this on?” SERIOUSLY?! Do you not realize that he is “already awake” because you won’t shut the hell up?! GET OUT! But no… he won’t leave. As I sit there silently, trying to telepathically move him into the other room with the death rays beaming from my eyes, he continues to ask questions. It is too late now. Kendall is WIDE awake. All efforts on my part up to this point are futile. I tell Scott what farking wall to paint that color, which, let me just point out, I have told him at least 10 times before this. Then it’s back to the rocking… rocking… rocking….
Kendall is 6 and a half months old