Prednisone fail

Remember that sappy post where I wrote about appreciating the moments (even the sick toddler moments) and relishing in the present.  Oy vey.  That post came to bite me in the butt about, ohhhh... maybe fifteen minutes after hitting "publish."

I was feeling all warm and fuzzy on the inside and feeling oh-so-thankful for all of my many blessings.  This was around midnight mind you, and then I heard the unmistakable noise of a fitfully sleeping and now upset toddler.  He had been tossing and turning since he went to bed with R several hours prior.  I had been dealing with the croupy toddler for the past two days, so R gave me the night "off." (In hindsight, that's probably why I felt all warm and fuzzy, but that's neither here nor there...)

I was happily lounging upstairs on my computer when I heard some crying coming from below, so I decided to be a good baby mama and go downstairs to see if I could soothe Mr. Grumps.  I got into bed with them (yay family bed!  not.)  and the toddler still would not sleep.  Tossing.  Turning.  Whimpering.

R decided to get up with him. (Note: I do not do this... Mama likes her sleep when she decides to turn in, and I don't care if you think it's a good time to wake up and party, go to sleep!).  The two of them got out of bed at 3:00 a.m. and were up (!?!) the rest of the morning ... you know, eating, playing, watching Toy Story.  Normal stuff that one does at 3:00 a.m.

It turns out, prednisone (prescribed for his croup) can cause sleeplessness and irritability.  Say whaaaaat?!?  It's a good thing I gave G his first dose right before bed that night (please note my dripping sarcasm here).  He was supposed to get one more dose the next day, but I quickly nixed that idea.

Ummmm yeah.

A sick toddler who really didn't sleep much + a mama who is already grumpy if roused early = recipe for disaster.  Poor, poor R.  He was a saint and let me sleep until 7:00 (God, I love that man), at which point he came in and asked me (nicely) if I could please take over.  I dragged a screaming banshee G back into bed and after several minutes of loud protests, he slept (!) for a little over an hour.

The rest of the day was spent in mismatched jammies making messes, watching more Buzz, and finding ways to occupy our time.

This is his "Moooom, stop taking pictures of me bathing in the sink with a pb&j goatee" face.  Love it.

Dumping EVERYTHING out of their baskets.  Fun times.

At least he will clean up willingly. 

A smile!  And MATCHING jammies!  It's a Christmas miracle!  ;)

Side note: I detested mismatched jammies before the age of one - Ugh, who wants to be that mom.  After he turned one, I was just glad to get jammies on my squirming child.  After the age of two, I am just happy when he keeps his pants on.  It's true, I no longer shudder at mismatched jammies.  The end.


So the moral of this blog post is simple: I am still grateful, albeit more sleep deprived and disheveled than my previous post.  Also, I am ready for my sweet, happy, sick free G to be back and I am never giving him prednisone again.  Ever.  Never ever (like ever).