Last night, 3 a.m.:
Willow, glaring: “Meooow.”
Me: “I just gave you wet food. You threw up. I am not arming you with more wet food–that would be madness. It is the middle of the night. Go to bed.”
Willow, insistent: “Miaaaaaaooooow.”
Me: “I love you, you depraved monster, but if you wake this baby I will recall what a lovely hat you would make.”
Willow, standing under crib: “MIAOOOO-”
I interrupted this loud exclamation by hoisting him into the air and depositing him in the dining room, before shutting the rattly door to the bedroom as quietly… as… possible…
Monster Hands: “E’h… gheeeh? G’hafffff….”
I wept.