Screaming your head off

 When Hudson was little and would cry in the middle of the night, I would not be in fear that he was being attacked by zombies. His cry was consistent, meaningful, yet somehow mellow. Tucker's middle of the night distress calls are more of the "someone is removing my skin" nature. And it freaks me out.

A couple nights ago we had one of our zombie attack evenings. Normally around midnight there is some type of commotion from his bedroom and on this given evening, he was UPSET. So, I did my best to lay in bed and not immediately go to calm him down. At some point I did check in. This, of course, only helped as long as I stayed and then the screaming reinstated.

So, he is freaking out, letting out those ear piercing screams and he just stops. Naturally, this freaks me out more than anything, so I go and sit outside his door hoping to hear snoring or rolling around or something. And I hear nothing.

I do what I proudly have done before. I get down on all four and crawl slowly, deliberately across his floor to his bed. But, alas, I have on my freaking four year old glasses and can not see squat. So I have to stand up and get my face closer to his crib.

There is Tucker. Wide eyed. Staring right back at me. (Insert mental expletives.) I slowly, deliberately drop back to my hands and knees and start crawling backwards to the door. (As if this is going to work.)

I get just to the threshhold of the door and quicker than you can say, "No way in hell, Mama," Tucker jumps up in his bed and starts screaming at me to pick him up.

And I did. We rocked and talked until sleep again sounded like the best laid plan at 2 a.m. Mister T was back awake at 4:00 and by 6:00 a.m. he and I were shopping for the day at Kroger. Consider this just a friendly PSA from my own experience that before 7 a.m. you can buy milk, eggs, fruit, but not a fifth of Cuervo.