I was pumped the whole week. Saturday was supposed to be awesome! I was showered, shaved, and dressed to eat my weight in Mexican food. My Mother-In-Law was here, ready to babysit the hell out of Dylan. It was Saturday night and these two tired haggard parents were going out! 

We made our way downstairs to the door when we heard the bloodcurdling screams of a baby in pain. We looked at each other and headed back upstairs to find our Little Dude wasn’t over his tummy troubles like we thought. His inconsolable cries were enough for us take off our jackets and put the keys down and resign ourselves to the fact that tonight was going to be a night at home. Again.

We ordered some Colombian take out from the local place, which would have been fine because they’re usually pretty good. When I got my food, it was burned, dry and just pretty awful all around. 

The rest of the night was a blur of baby holding, soothing, and tiny increments of sleep scattered throughout. A far cry from my planned Saturday night.

“Oh, you thought you could have a night out without me? SUCKAS!”