All week long, I look forward to Friday evening because it means that for two whole days, I'll have another adult at home. I can eat without having to nurse the baby at the same time. I can do the laundry without worrying that he will wake up while I'm only halfway done folding the clothes. I can take a shower without chanting nursery rhymes to entertain Luke, who sits in a chair and growls at his fists the whole time (Yes, he growls. Like an annoyed little tiger).
And all that is wonderful. But. The beauty of weekdays? I have no schedule. I don't try to get him to eat or nap at given times, and as a result, he eats and naps like a dream. And even when I DO have a schedule--when I'm meeting a friend for lunch or when I'm planning a trip to the store or the library--he still senses that I'm more relaxed about it, so he complies with my plans. On weekends, on the other hand, I tend to hurry him through his meals and and then hand him off to McMoose so that I can catch up on whatever it is that needs to be done, and apparently, Luke feels all rushed and unloved because he turns into an ornery little grumpus.
A grumpus who refuses to play. A grumpus who refuses to smile. And, dear God, a grumpus who REFUSES TO SLEEP. Luckily, after a painfully nap-less weekend, the grumpus has retreated and we've been enjoying a Monday filled with naps and lunches with friends and long games of Stick-Your-Tongue-Out-And-Grin-Like-A-Fool. Who knew there would come a day when I'd look forward to Mondays?
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