A Day at the Pumpkin Patch

I never thought that a day at the pumpkin patch could be so much fun. I never would have believed that Kenny could enjoy it so much:

…The maze of haystacks, which he ran through after the “big kids”…

…the “Pumpkin Bowling,” which showed off his pitching abilities…

And the beauty of the autumn day…

Yet another reminder that my little boy is no longer a baby, but a little kid! You’d think after all that running around, Kenny would crash into a two hour nap when we got home, but I think all that fresh air energized him. He was more of a joyous circus today than the last week combined. By dinner time, though, he was a Rascal with a capital R. Pizza (which I fixed as a treat, by the way) went flying off his tray, the sippy cup was catapulted into the air and and skid across the hardwood floor, and Dudley ate more than his fair share of cheese. I actually gave into the war cry of “CRACKER!” only to be thanked by Kenny practicing his discus throw with the first three of them.

So bedtime was a little early, Casey is at the Met’s vs. Cardinals playoff game (lucky man) and I am wiped out, sitting on the couch, belly unsettled from cold pizza and mushy crackers. ( I still can’t make myself throw away all that food! I’m hopeless.) I’m wondering if there is a way I can justify going to bed at eight PM. You see, the weaning is going “well” – Kenny is down to three feedings a day, and none of them are very significant. But he has somehow gone from a kid that would sleep straight through from six-thirty to six-thirty, to waking up at three-thirty every morning, wanting milk. And not just a little. We’re talking thirty minutes worth. I can’t believe how exhausting it is. I was finally taking sleeping through the night for granted! I tried letting him cry a few times, but he will go on for an hour, more frantic and insistent as each minute passes. I know I need to be strong and just not get up for him, but I always second guess myself… is he cold? wet? did he poop? Did he lose his “Baa” (the stuffed sheep he sleeps with)? Is he stuck in the blanket? Is there a bee in his pjs?

You see how exhausting that is. So I can hardly convince myself to ignore his cries and go back to sleep.

Maybe I can figure out a way to get Dudley to go in and check on him.