He attacks, under cover of darkness.

He is ruthless…and toothless.

He is a screaming, flailing, drooling, seventeen-pound TYRANT.

And, sadly, he’s my “kin.”

My grandson has been terrorizing his parents for four months.

And I’ve watched my Darling DIL stumble down the stairs, weak and hollow-eyed, after a night of hourly interruptions that include (but are not limited to)

feeding, rocking, walking, burping, changing, temperature-taking,

Tylenol, DEFCON 5 screaming, Gripe Water, prayers, tears,

and a few stolen moments of half-sleep for all parties concerned.

PEOPLE, TEACHING A BABY TO SLEEP IS NOT FOR SISSIES! Continue reading