every once in a while

I've established the fact that Waylon is the dreamiest baby around. Every once in a while, we have one of those days. Like yesterday: We started with a healthy breakfast and a lovely (read:hot and sweaty) walk, which ended in a massive blister on my heel. (I can run 14 miles in a week with little more than a sore calf; I walk three and end up limping. Go figure.) Waylon fell asleep somewhere along the way, which is nice during the walk cause I can go further, but a little tricky after the walk. If ever Waylon falls asleep pre-naptime - whether in the car or stroller - he is a pill to put down for a real nap at real-naptime. We get home, cool down, watch Elmo's World on S.S. and head for bed. An hour later, Waylon is still tossing and turning, rambling on about something or another, which turns into fussing, which digresses to full-blown take-your-breath death screams. I relent. I rescue him from his bed (a mere 30 minutes before he usually eats again) and lie down with him in my bed. He finally settles down and we both take a 1 1/2 hour nap, pushing our schedule back an entire hour.

I know some of you (ahem, Angie) are probably reading this thinking, See, that's why we don't do schedules. Why doesn't she just go with the flow? I did go with flow. Granted, I was flopping and flailing a little trying to bend the stream back my way. But I flowed. I did.

Noon: wake, lunch, head to the grocery store. *Side note: my coupon clipping and sales ad comparing is finally paying off. Major success this week at CVS and Publix. I think the Publix customer service people would have given me my entire cart of groceries if I would just leave the store.

Waylon is usually (surprise, surprise) a dream at the grocery store. That was, before we started shopping through his mid-day nap and before he figured out how to make Mama fetch. So, fetch I did, through most of the store. He batted his baby blues and flirted with many a shopper. One man asked if he was a boy or a girl. Seriously?? I took too long comparing coupons and sales and ran a little over, you guessed it, schedule. W snoozed in the car on the way home. We get home by 4:15, put the groceries away, have a 'snack', visit neighbors, start dinner. It's tricky these days when Waylon skips his late afternoon nap, but it was just too close to dinnertime and bedtime. So we skipped. For the second time. Big mistake.

First he's in the jumper with Cheerios. Meanwhile, I'm chopping, stirring, sipping a Miller Light, talking on the phone, boiling water, shucking corn, passing out Cheerios, tripping over Stella...just a jumble of noise and bustle for a good 30 minutes. My dinner-cooking is usually much less hectic. Sometimes it's just me and the Miller Light. Other times, Waylon's around but he's had a little more nap earlier in the day and is a better sport. Not this day.

He's finally had enough. Chug the beer. Hang up the phone. Grab the baby. By this time, it's almost 6, which is at least 30 minutes to an hour later than Daddy usually gets home, and around the time Waylon usually eats dinner. About that time, Dad's truck roars up the driveway. Tag team.

We greet Daddy at the door, with Brock and Stella in tow. He's got a sinus headache; it's been another stressful day; his clothes are wet with sweat. He's going to take a shower and change.

I decide to feed Waylon early. (A new favorite is chick peas/garbanzo beans.) Before he's done, Joey and I join him. Finish dinner (which I realize a little too late was too complicated and took too long for the time crunch we were experiencing). Clean up kitchen. Walk dogs. Play with Daddy while Mama showers... All the while growing more and more ill by the minute. We're talking about a kid that gets three naps on the perfect day, and he's only slept maybe two hours all day today, mostly before lunchtime. He's done. d-o-n-e.

Everything's making him cry. Walking around with Daddy = crying. Sitting down on the floor = crying. Changing a diaper = crying. Putting on pj's = crying. There is no question we're going to bed early. Last thing to check off our list is brush the teeth. I set him on the counter with is sock feet in the sink (what else do you do with a baby while you toothpaste the brush?) He makes a diving reach for something on the other side of the sink, slips and face plants onto the edge of the sink. Serious crying ensues.

I scoop him up and console him. Daddy comes to investigate the screams. By the time he gets there, Waylon's mouth is full of blood. It's running down his chin. Daddy takes him...from me...away. I was horrified. I know he wanted to help and console and, really, to make sure we didn't need to get in the car, but I was jaw-dropped. I wanted him back. It was my fault. I let him fall, I had to fix him.

He finally stopped bleeding and settled down. Joey decided it was just a little busted baby lip and that I/we was/were lucky he didn't go the other way (backwards with a busted baby head). I was so rattled and guilt-ridden that I cried as I nursed him to sleep. The perfect ending to this challenge-day. I replayed the whole thing - slow-mo slip, scared-face, bloody mouth and all - as I lie in bed willing myself to fall asleep. Waylon slept like a...baby...through the night and woke with a swollen baby lip reminder this morning, at the sight of which I encored my profuse apologies from the night before.

This transition phase - not-quite-crawling-still-kinda-wobbly-sitting-up-thinks-he's-walking-fearless-and-indestructible - is exhausting. I hope it passes quickly. I'm thinking crawling or walking would pose fewer health risks. I could be wrong. I probably am.