Ooops

I did it again.

That's right, folks.  Psycho, "WHERE'S MY BABY!?!" mama returns.

We are back at home, and Riggs is across the hall in his nursery.  Weber typically sleeps on the foot of our bed with us (Yeah, yeah...swore I'd never have a dog sleeping in our bed, but she is really snuggly and warm and I love it.  So there.)

In the middle of the night, Weber hopped off the end of the bed.

Cue sleepy psycho mother brain.

At the speed of light, I jumped out of the bed, sprinted to the end of the bed, and began frantically searching the floor for my baby while once again yelling, "WHERE'S THE BABY!?!" over and over again.

Because, you know, three and a half month-old babies can turn horizontal and perform consecutive rolls across the full length of a queen size bed.  Of course, all that is after he escaped his own crib, crossed the hall, and climbed into bed with us.

Once again, Jonathan sits up and with an annoyed and firm voice says, "Leslie.  He is in his crib.  In the nursery."

Suddenly, the sane, awake mama is back and fully cognizant of the fact that the thump of Weber jumping off the bed had been mistaken for the thump of a baby falling off the end of the bed.  All I could do was laugh.

The next morning, Jonathan told me he had never seen me move so fast.

No one can accuse me of being void of motherly instincts.

Let's just hope they kick in when it actually matters.