So last night’s sleep situation was not as wildly successful as Tuesday evening. Little Man fell asleep after fighting like a chained demon listening to elevator music. Now, I am not exactly sure how strong a fight that actually is, but it does sound like a pretty good amount of fighting. Wifey and I were battling a demon in chains forced to listen to even schmaltzier versions of Celine Deon hits. It was a "Titanic" struggle to say the least. Get it? Celine Deon, "Titanic" struggle? I am hilarious. Anyway... Little Man finally called his cease fire around 10:30 pm. It was around 1:30 am that I woke up to find Little Man quietly playing on the floor next to our bed. It seemed like he had been up for a bit. This is actually a problem that we have had to deal with for a while. Little Man is sometimes insanely quiet. We have a monitor in his room, and we listen to it pretty diligently. The issue is that sometimes he is quiet like fog on a snowy morning. (How’s that for imagery?) There have been many occasions where he has been awake and playing quietly where we were not aware of his consciousness. That was a bit more problematic when he was more prone to falling off the bed instead of climbing down. Anyway… Back to the story at hand, we helped him clamber into bed and it took another hour and 40 minutes for him to get back to sleep. Not the most successful foray into the realm of sleep that Little Man has ever had.
We (Wifey and I, not the “Royal We” which would be myself and the realm) think that his lack of sleeping last night had something to do with his, err.. how shall we say, ummm… trumpet butt. He was one gassy little guy last night. He was letting farts rip that would make elephants weep, and those are some stank ass mammals. He was just ripping these gas attacks one after another. We are pretty sure he would have sleep longer had his insides not been roiling like the North Sea in winter. Again I am not sure if the North Sea is “roiling” in the winter time, but it really sounds like a good analogy.
Wifey said that he was still letting them rip this morning whilst eating his oatmeal. Poor little fella. Other than the discomfort of massive amounts of gas, he did not seem to be ill or anything. We think (again Wifey and I) that he might have been having so much gas distress due to having too much fats food in a short amount of time. You see, his caregivers did not feed him much on Tuesday, so when I picked him up from their house he was insanely hungry. He, therefore wanted, nay, needed the Regent of Ground Meat, the Regal Sandwich, the Burger King. He ate almost an entire hamburger from BK: not the 90’s shoe British Knights, but the flame-broiled goodness that they sell with Ketchup. As soon as we left the Burger King proper he started screaming “TACO!” at the top of his lungs. Where is my quiet little boy now, where!?!? So off to Taco Bell we went.
It turns out that even with his food allergies Little Man can have Taco Bell products if he has them “Fresco” style. “Fresco” style at Taco Bell means that they replace all the cheese, sour cream, guacamole, etc… with chopped tomatoes, onions, and cilantro. "Fresca" style however is where they pour a crappy-assed soft drink on your meal and say, “Deal with it, Tubby!” Honestly, I do not like the whole “Fresca” style. The Fresco style is tasty though. Anyway… back to the story at hand, he also ate ¾ of a taco that night. The following day, his Mimma (Wifey’s mom) took him to Burger King for lunch as well yesterday. That is part of her ritual with the litlle guy as well. He and Mim go to this kids museum thingy (a museum for kids, not a place where replicas of children are on display) and then she drags him away from the train-sets kicking and screaming (him, not her) to go eat at his favorite place, Burger King. It is ritual. I do not think we mentioned to her that he had BK the night before as well. Anyway… we surmise that this conjunction of crappy food and the vast amount of soft-drinks he consumed while eating said crappy food is what caused the nexus of odor and gas to swirl about in his intestines, thus leading him to not sleep well and effervesce continually through the evening.
So to summarize:
1. BK and a taco and a soft drink one evening
2. BK and a soft drink the following lunch
3. Some Papa’s soft drink at dinner time
Leads to
A night of gas that would make a rhino blush and asphyxiate a small cat.
Q.E.D.
To recap:
Smelly assed Little Man is still cute
Fresca is trying to make a come back
TaB is not
Mmmm Burger King and taco
It is amazing how much a parent talks about their child’s/children’s excretory system and excretory exploits
Fart jokes are always funny
We (Wifey and I, not the “Royal We” which would be myself and the realm) think that his lack of sleeping last night had something to do with his, err.. how shall we say, ummm… trumpet butt. He was one gassy little guy last night. He was letting farts rip that would make elephants weep, and those are some stank ass mammals. He was just ripping these gas attacks one after another. We are pretty sure he would have sleep longer had his insides not been roiling like the North Sea in winter. Again I am not sure if the North Sea is “roiling” in the winter time, but it really sounds like a good analogy.
Wifey said that he was still letting them rip this morning whilst eating his oatmeal. Poor little fella. Other than the discomfort of massive amounts of gas, he did not seem to be ill or anything. We think (again Wifey and I) that he might have been having so much gas distress due to having too much fats food in a short amount of time. You see, his caregivers did not feed him much on Tuesday, so when I picked him up from their house he was insanely hungry. He, therefore wanted, nay, needed the Regent of Ground Meat, the Regal Sandwich, the Burger King. He ate almost an entire hamburger from BK: not the 90’s shoe British Knights, but the flame-broiled goodness that they sell with Ketchup. As soon as we left the Burger King proper he started screaming “TACO!” at the top of his lungs. Where is my quiet little boy now, where!?!? So off to Taco Bell we went.
It turns out that even with his food allergies Little Man can have Taco Bell products if he has them “Fresco” style. “Fresco” style at Taco Bell means that they replace all the cheese, sour cream, guacamole, etc… with chopped tomatoes, onions, and cilantro. "Fresca" style however is where they pour a crappy-assed soft drink on your meal and say, “Deal with it, Tubby!” Honestly, I do not like the whole “Fresca” style. The Fresco style is tasty though. Anyway… back to the story at hand, he also ate ¾ of a taco that night. The following day, his Mimma (Wifey’s mom) took him to Burger King for lunch as well yesterday. That is part of her ritual with the litlle guy as well. He and Mim go to this kids museum thingy (a museum for kids, not a place where replicas of children are on display) and then she drags him away from the train-sets kicking and screaming (him, not her) to go eat at his favorite place, Burger King. It is ritual. I do not think we mentioned to her that he had BK the night before as well. Anyway… we surmise that this conjunction of crappy food and the vast amount of soft-drinks he consumed while eating said crappy food is what caused the nexus of odor and gas to swirl about in his intestines, thus leading him to not sleep well and effervesce continually through the evening.
So to summarize:
1. BK and a taco and a soft drink one evening
2. BK and a soft drink the following lunch
3. Some Papa’s soft drink at dinner time
Leads to
A night of gas that would make a rhino blush and asphyxiate a small cat.
Q.E.D.
To recap:
Smelly assed Little Man is still cute
Fresca is trying to make a come back
TaB is not
Mmmm Burger King and taco
It is amazing how much a parent talks about their child’s/children’s excretory system and excretory exploits
Fart jokes are always funny