The Weekly, Three-Hour Wrestling Match

Church is a distressing time for Micah and me. It's basically a three-hour wrestling match. Church is right during his nap, and he really, really struggles. There have been many times in the last few months that he and I have had what Nat calls "Diet Church." And I feel badly about that, but when I'm to the point where Micah is going to experience Shaken Baby Syndrome, it's time to go home and put his butt to bed. Ben and I take turns doing "Diet Church." We really try to push Micah to stay the whole three hours, but when we've had it, we've had it. He goes into nursery in three months, and we're counting down the weeks. Seriously.

Two weeks ago, I brought Micah home after the second hour, because I had HAD it, and I put him in his high chair for him to eat a quick lunch before his nap, and he was sleeping within one minute:

Poor kid. He and I did Diet Church again yesterday. I was up until one in the morning reading, because I'm a dork, and then yesterday morning, I had a huge allergy attack. We're out of Claritin, so I had to whip out the big dog, Benadryl. Which wiped me out even further. So during sacrament, my head kept lolling forward, and my eyes kept rolling back into my head. Somewhere in the periphery of my consciousness, I realized that Micah was being crazy, but Ben was dealing with him, so I blissfully continued in my fluffy, semi-conscious state. Then, when sacrament meeting ended, I shook my head, woke up, saw Micah screaming bloody murder, and went, "I'm done. I can't stay awake, much less deal with him." So we went home. I gave him a quick lunch, threw him into bed, and had a four-hour nap.

I'm a bad Mormon.