Eli. Eli, Eli, Eli. What to say other than you SURE DID get the memo that you have turned two, huh?
You are lucky that you are cute and cuddly and learning funny little phrases, so that when I have to stomp, er, go to your room for the third time in a row at ten o' clock at night, you can hold up your arms, immediately stop screaming, and lisp sweetly, "COME 'ere!" And then grab my sleeve and attempt to haul my giant adult body into your toddler bed beside you, but in the most winsome and coaxing manner possible, so that I have almost no choice but to at least TRY to force your tiny bed to hold us both.
Turns out it does, until my leg falls asleep. Unlike YOURSELF!
Dude, if I end up with ten extra pounds and a drinking problem this winter, the blame is squarely on your little shoulders. Because once you are finally asleep, all I ever want to do is celebrate, adult-style. (And by adult style I of course mean diving into a box of cookies and a tumbler of red wine while watching the most recent Netflix offering.)