Sleeping With Jacks

I've been reserving comments on hotel-living until I'm firmly planted in a new home and can clear out the situational delusions that I'm sure are clouding my judgement.

That said: there are FOURTEEN days to go.  Fourteen.  We can do this.

The dark circles under my eyes today are a direct result of my actions last night.  I found myself in bed with Jacks.

Not Dawson, Sparrow, Daniels, -The Ripper, -In The Box, or even that one dude from Sons of Anarchy that I think needs a haircut (and wash)...nor the French boyfriend of the New York Housewives' Countess Luann.

I have never trusted this guy's moustache.

No, in my constant state of inflated uncomfortability, I spent hours wriggling, rolling over, stretching, and still could not find a sleepable position.  It felt like there was something jabbing me all over.  The baby must be screwing with me, I thought...but then I could feel it in my legs.  I reached down in the covers to feel around and found them.  The olden-days-childhood toys.  Jacks.  Esten had picked them from the dentist's treasure box, one of the two prizes they afforded him for all his trauma at their office yesterday, and apparently felt the ideal place to play with them was in his bed.  Like IN the bed, between the sheets.

I had switched him places in one of the two queen sizes after giving Clayton some cough medicine, my initial source of sleeplessness.  I figured if I stayed close I could hear him better to re-dose him throughout the night.  A bit of hackiness followed, then the sound that ignites every mother's midnight cat-like reflexes: the sound of an impending puke triggered by a coughing gag.

1. We are in a hotel room, did I mention that?
2. I have no way to launder bed linens myself.

The leftover popcorn bucket from the evening's movie proved handy, with almost no overspray at all.  A trip to the bathroom *which is very close by, and a drink of water later, Clayton and I were back in bed.

He zonked right out and didn't move, cough, or puke the rest of the night.

I laid awake at the ready for him to move, cough, or puke for the rest of the night.

This morning we got up and I asked him if he felt like going to school.  He didn't have a fever, and the school's breakfast menu sealed his deal: pancakes.  No way would he miss pancakes.

So just when I think we have this figured out, life keeps throwing me curveballs like last night's shenanigans....and somehow I keep living through it.

Fourteen more days.  I may be able to shed a humorous light on it when it's all over with but right now all I can do is count the days.