On sharing a hotel bed with a toddler

Though it has suffered from mild neglect, this blog is very important to me. As proof I offer the fact that I am here typing now when I could be sleeping after a night spent wide awake on a hard box of springs hotel bed with a squirmy monster toddler. I have to sit at the kitchen table to type because if I sit on the couch this post will read fjawneh578gfdngawr a 87ry err7yaw475njh vgjAWEI serthn5 hngbdMJY DFUV7 edrtyjhn5 RHT which is what my head would write when it landed, sound asleep, on the keyboard.

Evidence that I am crazy: I took my 13-month-old to a hotel and had hoped to sleep.

Evidence that I have the best little boy in the world: He had fun. His tantrums, so warranted, were shockingly brief. He took his naps. He slept all night to his usual, 6 a.m. He saved his poopy diapers for the hotel room only.

He loved all the new places and activities of the Wisconsin Dells. He loved waking up to not just mommy but a room full of family members. He ran and played and slept and ate pizza.

It was my first time spending the night in a bed hijacked by with my son. He fell asleep there, then stayed asleep when I moved him to a portable crib for two hours, which is when he woke up and made a pissed off "where the heck am I" whimper, which led to the sleeping arrangement between mommy and daddy. If anyone is concerned about the dangers of co-sleeping here, don't bother. I didn't sleep -- not even before, when he was in the crib. (Hello, I'm 28 years old and have the body pain of a 70-year-old with arthritis.) Certainly not after, when he was squirming and rolling and whimpering and digging his little feet into his daddy's back.

That's all the complaining I'll do, though, because the blessing of this little boy weighs the scales heavily in my favor. Plus, my very first period since conceiving Fletcher ended the day of the trip, and that's some awesome good luck.

The rest of the photos will have to wait because my little guy is waking up.