I'd blog more if Gestated Cinco wasn't all "WHEE!!!! SLEEPING!!!!" It's almost as if she's heard the phrase "Lay down and go to sleep" and translated it to "Get down and go to sleep." She's downright funky when sleeping. Thrashing and kicking and stretching, and as we are visiting grandma's house, she's in bed with us. So here we are, in Cinco's personal disco, without the benefit of alcohol. Not that Cinco's deprived. Her own personal wet bar is at her disposal, as is her father's arm if she wants to really live it up. All while sleeping. So you can't really be annoyed with her, because all I thought I wanted was a baby who slept, I didn't actually request sedated sleeping.

She sleeps perfectly still when I hold her. Which is what I'm doing right now. A baby in the arms and a computer on the lap in an August evening makes for a sticky sweaty mess. Yes I really did write that and I am well aware of how first worldy it all is, but whatever.

Cinco keeps getting jolted awake because X-Man figured how to climb out of his crib. I suppose it was a long time coming, but now it's just a long time complaining. We've moved it, placed barriers around every side and been screamed at in rage. It's particularly sad because X-Man used to be the best sleeper in the world. He did not visit the rave that is Cinco's REM. He conked out and stayed out for twelve hours.

But that was before, in a fit of rage, he bit holes in each of his binkies. His one source of soothing, other than food, was suddenly gone. I was alerted to this around 2am one morning. I stumbled into his bedroom, scooped up a couple of binkies that he had thrown out of his bed and said "here you go, don't throw them." I was almost hit with a flying binky and assaulted with shrieks of "nonnononono bebebebes!" I discovered secret to his rage. And the rest is history. And is why X-Man is going 16 rounds with the father figure as we speak.

He's stopped trying to get out of the bed, and he's no longer trying to make a break out the front door. I'm no longer involved the warfare, mostly because I can't take watching X-Man run. Normally, he moves as a buoy in the ocean. When he chooses to run, he lowers his head and shoulders to a 15 degree angle and just shuffles his feet very quickly. If he's particularly irritated because, say, someone is trying to make him go bed, he juts out his lower jaw, frowns hard and tilts his head to one side and charges forward. He moves like an inebriated penguin. Driving a howitzer. It's both scary and hilarious at the same time.

Oh, and the washer is leaking, so

the father figure is presently up to his ears in parts, so it's up to me to take on the tank driving rage machine.