Last night, Cedar brought her parents and grandmother over for taco night, and as always, it was tons of fun.
You played outside, then took a bath together in the new tub and even had ice cream. It was all smiles and giggles 'til it was finally time to tell them goodbye.
But then...
At 3am this morning, I woke up to you screaming. I mean SCREAMING. In the 6 seconds it took me to get from my bed, up the stairs and into your room, I had time to consider the following scenarios and decide they were all plausible:
* A mountain lion had found a way to climb into our second story window, and had you in her jaws.
* Your leg had gotten stuck in the bars of your crib, cutting off all circulation, and you may or may not lose your foot.
* You'd been stung by a wasp and I couldn't remember exactly what crazy thing I'm supposed to chew up and spit on the sting to make it better. Or maybe it's meat tenderizer? Would I be able to find it on google?
This is how a mother's mind works at 3am when her baby is screaming bloody murder.
When I got next to your crib, you were sitting up waiting for me and - I swear - said, "'Ere's Edah? Les' go Edah's 'ouse!" (Wheres's Cedar? Let's go to Cedar's house!)
I think I said something patient and understanding like, "You have completely lost your mind, and you need to hush."
Here's what I know: when the first mountain lion graduates from Cirque Du Soleil Academy and learns to vault into your bedroom window with the help of a trampoline, a French clown and one of those rope swings, you're going to be really sorry you tricked me with this "'Ere's Edah?" business.
Love,
Mom
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