Why you should have kids when you are a teenager.

The other night, we got our first coldish snap. I hate cold weather. I really do. So as soon as it hits 50 degrees, I start pulling out heavy blankets, and coats, and winter pajamas.

I found out that Colby does not like winter pajamas... Why? Because you can't wear shoes with them. He doesn't care that the shoes are built in. He wants to wear a t-shirt and shoes. He also seems to be afraid of some sort of belly button emergency, and if he is wearing a zip-up sleeper, how can he save the belly button???

But that is not even the beginning of my story. Or the POINT of it, for that matter.

So Sunday night, I am putting on his sleeper and he is a hysterical octopus child. As fast as I can put one foot in, he is jerking it back out. He is yanking at the sleeper and screaming as if it is on fire. And I keep smiling, knowing that I paid $10 for this thing and it is CUTE and he is BY GOD going to wear it if it KILLS me.

And it nearly did.

I finally get my naked, rabid, octopus child zipped up into his sleeper, and he is still screaming over those shoes that cannot be worn, and I am trying to calm him down (because it is a SLEEPER for goodness sakes, in case you missed that, a BRAND NEW, CUTE SLEEPER. Not a nipple piercing, or something painful such as that.)

I pick him up, and say, "Oh, stop now!! Look how cute you look in your jams!! Cuuuuutteeee! Cute Colby!!"

*scream scream scream* (pulls at sleeper) *screams screams screams*

"Lets go show daddy how cute you look!" I say, picking him up off the changing table and heading toward the living room with him.

Unfortunately, I stepped on an oversized Hot Wheel with my bare foot, and jumped so that I got off-balance. Instinct made me step back... onto a Circus Truck. My other foot, recovering from the Hot Wheel implantation, tried to find some traction, somewhere, anywhere... and about that time, I stepped into the trash can.

That was pretty much the end of that. There are only so many ways to trip an elephant. I hit the floor hard, my right ass cheek landing on a square wooden block, one foot in a dirty diaper, the other twisted under me, and my head whacking the door frame on the way down.

I thought I managed to toss Colby into my pile of Ebay clothes, but it seems that he hit his head on something on the way down.

One thing about it, he forgot about his pajama depression.

And I feel like I was hit by a truck. And my buttcheek looks like a map of Texas.

It used to not hurt like this to fall down.