When you have a baby who refuses to stay in his crib all night, but insists on joining you in the bed, "sleeping in the wet spot" takes on a whole new range of meanings. In fact, I think a good game for new parents would be "Guess The Wet Spot". Is it pee? Is it breastmilk? Is it spit-up? Who knows? But it's ruining your sheets just the same!

The more I resist him, the more my 13 or 14 pound son asserts his right to make my life difficult. Example: On Saturday night, I decide that come hell or high water, he's going to figure out how to put himself back to sleep, in the crib, without my intervention. It worked for the first two times he woke up. And then, he decided to unleash the heavy artillery. He was all, "Enough with this shit. Where's the chick with the tits? I bet if I try hard enough, I could get her evicted" and then he let out what could only be described as skin-melting screeches. I'm so glad he's discovering the range of his vocal chords.

I was so tired on Sunday that I nearly fainted at church. While singing. At the front. That would have been hilarious. Except, not.

It's a good thing he's so bloody cute.