My valuable verbal lesson (or, the lives of tag-teaming Wile E. Coyotes).

Because it’s not all cuteness and button noses, but also plenty of 3am ugliness, headachey whining and life lessons, I’ll share my valuable verbiage lesson from last night this morning.

It’s been a rough few nights. Bebe is having the delayed reaction to the one-year vaccine cocktail, and Koala is going through some kind of behavior-sleep issue during the nights. Which has basically lead to a situation where their parents are doing a Wile E. Coyote dance with dynamite strapped to our backs, slowly burning away at the last threads of our shredded sanity.

I won’t get into specifics because anyone with small children knows what I’m talking about, and anyone who doesn’t have small children has plenty of time to live through it later on.

Anyway, by 3 4 5 6 in the morning, my dynamite wick was pretty much burnt out. So when the boy began his dramatic cry of trivial nearly-morning-but-please-it’s-still-dark issues, I just… exploded:

“ENOUGH! I’M SICK OF THIS! I JUST SPENT 5 HOURS IN YOUR BED SLEEPING WITH YOU BREATHING INTO MY FACE, COUGHING UP MY NOSE, AND NOW YOU’RE IN HERE AND COMPLAINING! JUST STOP TALKING TO ME!”

Somehow, the episode fizzled as Wile E. Coyote II managed to reign the drama in.

An hour later, as we were slowly rousing, I overheard a new cryfest brewing between Koala and a surprisingly-patient-considering-the-night-we-had huz.

And like some boomerang mirror, I opened my eyes and witnessed, well, the boy was just like me. After any words huz tried to put forth, Koala, covered in tears and anger, spewed –

“STOP TALKING TO ME! STOP! TALKING! TO! ME!”

It couldn’t have hit me any harder.