1.
Thursday night. Middle of the damn night. 4 am or something.
Wes is trying to wake me up, telling me that the baby is hungry and needs to eat. The baby is fussing/crying/wailing next to me in the box thing between our pillows. Each time Wes says, "Bri, wake up, you need to feed the baby," I respond, mumbling, "Feed him." Wes gets increasingly frustrated. This goes on for 20 minutes of me responding something like, "Feed him." And Wes saying, "Do I actually have to pick him up and give him to you? He's right next to you." And me saying, "Feeding him."
Yes, I was dreaming that I was feeding the baby. And I could have sworn it was real. And I couldn't figure out why Wes couldn't see it.
2.
In my post about singing strange songs to Beck, a commenter named Erin told us about the kitty cat dance on youtube. It is the oddest and most bizarrely addictive bit of media we have come across in some time. We are now watching it multiple times daily and singing it constantly.
3.
This morning I had Beck on my lap and Wes standing next to me as we watched aforementioned kitty cat dance for the umpteenth time. Beck was pooping audibly. There was a particularly loud bit from him, and I said, "I swear it feels like that one went directly on me." And Wes said, "Isn't it crazy how sometimes it feels like that when he's on your lap?" And then I put my hand under to check and then I said, "Yes, because it did go directly on me." I removed my hand to see it covered in poop. "Ohhhhh," we said, and started to laugh. Then I started to lift Beck to hand him off to Wes and we saw that my jeans were covered, "OOhhhhhhhh," we said, and started cracking up. Then I started to stand up and we saw that there was a giant puddle of poo in the desk chair. "Oooooooohhhhhhhhhhhh," we said and laughed until we cried.
I was in the bathtub naked from the waist down trying to scrub my jeans. Wes was in Beck's room changing him. We could both see, and yet neither of us could move, as Lexie the dog... cleaned up the poo on the desk chair.
