Indigestion

Yesterday Lyla went down for a late nap. Julie left to run some errands. I sat downstairs and listened to the baby monitor as Lyla sang happy birthday to herself and did not sleep. Momentarily, the singing escalated to a full-fledged rebellion of "No nap! No nap! Up! WAAAAAH!"

I crept upstairs and stood outside the nursery door, hand poised over the knob in the dreaded pose of sleep-failure indecision. When do you go in? You don't want to give up 30 seconds before the miracle happens, nor do you want to listen to this pitiful, devastated child. It's her birthday--good grief!

At school our faculty mail boxes are doorless and span a massive wall in the resource room, over 100 of them, and on Wednesday members of the American Legion placed an apple into each one. You walked in and were hit with an aroma so powerful you felt it in your eyes.

That's what I experienced when I entered Lyla's nursery that afternoon, only instead of apples it was shit.

"Up peez, Dada."

"Oh sweet merciful heavens."

The diaper had put up a valiant fight, but in the end it was no match for the blitzkrieg. (I should say shitzkrieg.) I balled up her leggings and threw them on the floor, then mopped up her war zone with approximately 900 wipes.

New leggings. Four books. Back in crib. Three hour nap.

So that was after Julie's parents left and before Jodie, Matt, Ava, and Luke came over. When they left, we put her to bed. Then we went to bed. Everything was calm and lovely.

Until 12:45 AM. Lyla started crying and saying "All wet!" She had barfed cupcake all over herself.

Here we are after the bath and after three post-bath barfs.


We're watching Elmo in Grouchland, a movie that has slightly less cinematic merit than The Terror of Tiny Town, a 1938 musical western with an all-midget cast.

Lyla did finally stabilize, so we put her back to bed.

Julie woke up the next morning queasy and miserable; Lyla woke up cheerful and starving.

After Lyla played vigorously with her new toys, I put her down for a nap by setting her in the crib, handing her a book, and saying "You can sit and read for a little bit, but then you need to lie down and go to sleep." She woke up four hours later.

That evening, Julie stayed back to continue sleeping and writhing while Lyla and I headed to my parents' house. My uncle and his family got Lyla a bitchin' new ride.


Check out the birthday pie.


Nice candle arrangement, Mom! Job great!


Lyla stuffed herself with apple cheesecake pie. Hopefully she'll make it through the night without yacking it up.

One more thing. My brother, sister, and aunt asked Lyla what her baby brother's name is, and Lyla told them. Then I lied and said _______ is just the name of a boy at Lyla's daycare that she likes. So if you want to know the name, just ask Lyla. But do it away from me and then keep quiet about it. Neither Julie nor I want to hear our son's name bandied about before he's born.