Kaden, I feel like we've got a repore going, you and me. I mean, communication lines are open. I get when you scream bloody murder the moment your butt touches the floor that you would much rather me wet myself than set you down for a moment to use the bathroom. After all, it's not like you need a little privacy to go or anything, right? You've adjusted, why can't I.

And I get that you love when I give you rasberries on your tummy and it makes you laugh. You like it enough you've been careful to make it the only thing that gets you laughing, thereby causing me to do it 200 times a day until my lips are chapped and bleeding and your stomach is red and swelling. But you laugh.

So the whole incentive/disincentive game is working out well. Except, if when I blow rasberries on your belly you continue to have to grab my hair and yank it like your pulling a Ford F150 out of a ditch single-handedly then I will have to cease your laugh enducing fun. Seriously, I've got enough worries about becoming an old dad without losing my hair this year.

Thanks Kaden.

Oh, and keep being cute, but do something about that breath. It smells distinctly like old milk.

PS - Yes, he's sleeping better. Partly out of exhaustion, and therefore I am sure he is simply resting up for revenge of the sleep nazi. But he has been converted back to his crib, we have our bed back, and we are ready with Feberization this time my friend. Cold, cold, people we are.