He was playing with his toys in the corner of the room the last time my heavy eyes slid closed.
The next time they jerked open was when I realized whatever dream I was enjoying should not have included such wet noises.
Painfully ripped from blissful unconsciousness, I saw my eight-month old standing inches from me, at the coffee table, happily splashing away.
My once-full mug of tea on its side.
The travel mug.
Which had been in the “closed” position.
Guess we know how well that works now.
Thankfully, as all my tea is these days, it was only slightly warm.
But, oi, the mess.
Now he has the caffeine high and I have the sleep-deprived, caffeine headache.
And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is why you either sleep with the baby or with the baby and the puppy. But not with the puppy while your baby roams loose in the house.