Did you see that movie PITCH BLACK, in which the characters learn to fear the night because that’s when the planet’s carnivorous beasties surface from their subterranean pits and start savaging everyone?
Thanks to his teething trouble, Robert can’t sleep for longer than an hour at a time during the night, and I have lullabied myself hoarse. If I had a job to go to, I’d be spending a lot of time prying my cheek off of a drool-soaked keyboard. As it is, we’ve improvised an emergency tag-team strategy for getting through the day: one of us gets hopped up on stimulants and keeps the kid from drawing on the walls, and the other catnaps. It seems to be working so far, since we managed to reach a sort of Zen calm watching the boy maul a block of cheese at dinner.