A while back, I divulged a less than flattering truth about myself: When I'm tired, I'm a real grump. I know you guys who are new to this blog are probably shocked, since normally I'm so cheerful and charming. But it's true.
As evidenced here, here, and okay fine, here too. And maybe a little bit here. In fact, when I found out I was pregnant with Ethan, my most vivid and haunting fear was the loss of sleep that would inevitably follow the birth of a baby.
This morning the little fuzzy-headed ninnymuggins decided to wake up at ten to six. He took his bottle and chilled for a little while, but then started bleating around 6:30. I went in and found him jumping in his crib. But I could tell he was still tired, because he, like his father, gets Tired Eyes (puffy, pinkish, decidedly more almond-shaped than normal), which belie his excessive awakeness. His tiredness was further proved by his insistence on bringing Stacy the Lion and his blanket out of the crib with him.
My own tiredness was evidenced by my reaction to Noah very thoughtfully placing the alarm clock on the bed next to me before he left at 6, so I wouldn't have to reach too far when it went off at 7:30. (hahahahaha by the way. HA.):
Noah: Bye sweetie. [places alarm clock on his pillow, which I confiscate the second he's out of bed for snuggling purposes]
Erin: Not on my aaaarm! DON'T LET IT TOUCH ME. [violently turns over, drags comforter over head]
So. A pretty standard-issue morning at Ye Olde Fierce Beagle Inn.