Last night was Lukas’ first night sleeping in his own room.  It was perfect.  His sleep schedule didn’t change a bit than if he had been in bed with me.  Because of this, I am frightened.  I am frightened that I may have caught him off guard last night and he really didn’t notice that I pulled a fast one on him.  I’m scared that tonight I’ll be feeding him and he’ll have this conversation with me:

"Ok woman, I’m almost finished eating, so why are we in this room?  I wish to be taken to bed now.  Did you not hear me?  No!  What are you doing?  Don’t put me in here!  This is where I take naps and scream during the day, are you confused?  Are you high or something?  Don’t walk away from me!  Ehn!  Ehn!  Eeeeehnnnn!  Dammit I can’t get up and walk yet and kick you in the shins!  Get back here and take me to bed!  HEY!  Why aren’t you answering me?  Are you mad at me?  Mommy?  WAAAAAAAAAAA!"

It just doesn’t seem that it could be this easy after all the horror stories I read online about people trying to transition their children to their own beds.  Granted, most children are older than two months and maybe that is why it was so easy.  Maybe our routine is so well-structured that as long as I adhere to the main parts of it, where he sleeps is not as important as how he sleeps.  We’ll see though.  And besides, he SHOULD be sleeping in his own room.  I put a lot of work to make sure that room looks precious and lovable and makes every woman (besides me) who enters want to have a baby.  Also, he punches me in the face when he wants a bottle when he sleeps with me, and I’m tired of it.

Tomorrow marks exactly two months since the little dude was born.  I haven’t learned much more in the past month than in the first.  The only things new are the fact that it was an odd but enjoyable experience to see my mom go ga-ga over Lukas and that baby farts are still hilarious.  Let me explain my stance on fart jokes.  If you lift a leg and fart on purpose, I will not laugh at you.  I will find you disgusting and forever after associate you with greasy ass cracks.  Farts are only funny if they are accidental and the farter is highly embarrassed or if it’s a baby fart.  Baby farts are so funny because they are, quite frankly, disproportionately huge.  Lukas could seriously compete with the ickiest of truck driver poots.  The fact that I jump every time he poots is fact enough that they are epic and worthy of a laugh.  Oh, and when he poops, it’s also scary.  It’s a sound that shakes his entire body and from the sounds of it you’d swear he’s been eating Mexican food for the past few weeks.  It terrified my mom to no end when she was here, which made it even funnier.

I’d also like to take a moment to apologize for my horrific spelling and typo errors on here lately.  I have to write a blog either one-handed or with Lukas in his crib screaming his head off as if someone told him that chocolate milk would be extinct by the time he was old enough to drink it.  The latter is happening right now.  I put him in his crib for a nap because, I don’t know, he fell asleep on my lap.  the moment he hit that crib mattress, those blue eyes flew open and he looked at me like I were lowering him into a pot of stew.  After every paragraph of this blog I’ve gon ein there and cuddled and kissed him until he looked sleepy again, but as soon as I sit down, the screaming resumes.  So if I have bad errors on here, please ignore them until this kid can give me a break long enough to crank one of these out. 

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