That was my life at approximately 5 am this morning, when my son, Henry, woke up soaked to the skin. We've been giving him more beverages lately in an effort to aid the potty training process (the picture in my profile is a few years old - Hank is nearly 3 now). And unfortunately, his sleep situation has deteriorated in recent months such that in sheer desperation we allow him to sleep on our floor if he gets up in the middle of the night and wanders out of his toddler bed. Right, so this happens pretty much every night. Ok, every night. So, at 5 am I hear an oddly combined curious/pissed off "mommy?" followed by the above mentioned beginning of a full blown temper tantrum. As if the terrible two's weren't bad enough, the terrible two's in the middle of the night make it that much more excruciating.
So...I'm tired. It's nearly 2 pm, and I've hit the mid-afternoon wall. Somehow, I managed to just speak at a meeting at which I was *on* the agenda (so, no choice on that one). Managed to not embarrass myself. I just need to now make it to the end of the work day, and then go home to spend the evening with the exhausted and sure-to-be-tempramental Henry while my husband attends his Wednesday night Statics class. Good times.