An Ode to the Army

So my husband read my first post of my new blog last night, and said he thinks it comes off as a bit anti-military. Not so, said I.
I love the military. To prove it, I wrote a poem to laud the glory and honor of the U.S. Army:

The United States Army is brave and strong
Its honor will never sway
I hate that it took my husband
But I'm loving the extra pay

So there. Never let it be said that I don't support the troops. (after all, what with extra duty pay, housing allowance and separation pay, they're helping to support me.)

Drew is still dealing fairly well. The only real change is that, every night, around 2 or 3 in the morning, he ends up in bed with me. He cites different reasons each night for why he needs to lay in my bed as opposed to his own - he's afraid of the dark, there's a monster under his bed, his sheets aren't comfortable. (yeah, that's because he peed on them. I said, babe, if you pee on my new Pottery Barn sheets, there will be much trouble.)

I don't mind, though. I actually kind of like it. He's warm and snuggly, and I feel safe knowing that he's in the same room with me, my telephone and my .38.

I can't let him lay in my bed at the beginning of the night, though, because then neither of us will ever get any sleep. I tried it once this week, figuring maybe it would save us both from waking up at 2 in the morning to get him re-settled.

However, before he goes to sleep, Drew likes to flop around like a fish out of water. And he likes to talk. A lot. So I had to set some ground rules.

"Drew, if you're going to sleep in here with me, you have to be still and you have to be quiet. That means no flopping around, and no talking. Got it?"

"Yes, Mama," he said.

So I settled him under the covers, propped my book on my lap and started my nightly before-bed reading.

One paragraph into my book...

"Mama," says Drew.

"Drew, I said you have to be quiet."

Pause.

Drew, whispering: "Mama."

Sigh.

"What, Drew?"

Still whispering: "Whatcha doin'?"

"I'm reading my book."

Pause.

Whisper: "Mama. What kind of book is it?"

"Drew, 'be quiet' doesn't mean talk in a whisper...it means don't talk at all."

Long pause.

"Mama."

Sigh.

"Mama. My legs are cold. I need covers."

Stifling a groan, I reach over and pull the sheet over his legs.

Pause.

Flop, flop, flop.

Pause.

Flop.

Pause.

"Mama. Don't you need a covers on your legs?"

"No, it's hot in here. I don't want covers. Now hush."

Pause.

Flop.

Kick.

Flop.

Sighing, I give up on my book and turn out the light, hoping that will help him calm down.

Pause.

Whispering: "Mama! It got really dark in here!"

Groaning from me.

"Mama. I need a flashlight. In case there's monsters."

"Drew. There are no monsters in here. Now hush and go to sleep or I'm taking you to your room."

Kick. Flop. Kick.

Kick kick kick kick kick

I let out a big sigh, and reach for him to take him to his room. Sensing danger, he starts petting my arm softly. Oh shoot. I can't resist the soft arm petting. So...relaxing...think I'll...just...go to...sleee....

"Mama. I'm hot. I don't want a covers on my legs anymore."

That was the end of the great co-sleeping experiment.