Littles came home from his first day of school so wiped out that he couldn't even stay awake through dinnertime, which is usually his most active, demanding part of the day. He fussed a little from his swing, so Ryan scooped him up and prepared to eat the rest of his potato soup while simultaneously bouncing Wesley and holding the pacifier in with his elbow. But instead he curled into Ryan's chest and went right back to sleep. It was really adorable. But hard to enjoy because I was sure there was something terribly wrong, not being accustomed relaxing dinners now that we are four of us. He is fine, of course.
His teachers said everything went very well. He ate well and slept well and apparently didn't subject them to the terrible, "call the exorcist" screams of which he is capable--the ones that are so loud they sound distorted. So that's good. And he did come home a much more laid back baby, which is great. He slept better last night too, which gave me a forehead smacking realization that Charlie started day care at 11 weeks and that was right around the time that he started sleeping through the night. Which just goes to show you, if you can't stomach letting your baby fuss himself to sleep, pay someone who can!
Of course enjoyed getting some time to work with no distractions. Sometime in the afternoon I fell asleep sitting Indian-style on my desk chair, head down on a stack of revised pages. Probably the result of several weeks of spotty sleep, culminating in Sunday night, when I fed Wesley FOUR TIMES BETWEEN MIDNIGHT AND SIX, good Lord. I wouldn't be surprised if it says "this paragraph unnecessary" backwards across my forehead. I can't remember the last time I fell asleep involuntarily, but given the pages of nonsensical scribble in my undergraduate notebooks, it must have happened with some regularity. I wouldn't say I got a LOT done, besides two cups of coffee, two cups of tea, half a loaf of homemade bread, and three-hundred cookies. Clearly I cannot be trusted alone with carbs. But considering how tired I was and how many times I had to pump, I'd say it was a good day.
Charlie's first day in the two-year-old room seemed to suit him well too. When I picked him up they were in the inside playground, which is a room full of foam play equipment and plastic balls. Charlie loves it in there, but manages to get sent home with an "Ouch Report" almost every time they visit. Before I went in I watched through the window as Charlie ran inside a felt tent made to look like a stump with two leaves for doors. The tent began rocking back and forth violently. Charlie, the only kid inside, was inside lauging maniacally and shrieking. Finally, the rocking stopped and Charlie shot out the felt-leaf doors red faced, sweaty, and laughing hysterically. Getting him into his coat to go home was an Olympic event. On the way home he yelled/sang "A B Cs... F!! G!!!" on repeat the entire way. He had three (!) bowls of potato soup, a piece of bread and butter, and a salad for dinner. Those big kids must play HARD.
We're having a lot of fun today, too. We went to story time and then had lunch with a friend and now they are both napping (which is beyond my wildest dreams) (For lunch I had a giant scoop of "Tofu with mushroom cream sauce" which looked (but did not taste) exactly like curried chicken, freaking Whole Foods tricked me into eating freaking TOFU, I only know what it was because I went back and read the handy little identifying placard that was placed on the tray AFTER I had finished "eating", I only made it through half before I couldn't pretend anymore and resorted to surreptitiously stealing things from Charlie's fruit and cheese plate).
I think this is all going to work out nicely.