Golf! With a baby!

The last four successive Mondays, Will, Sawyer and I have gone out to the Nevada County Country Club golf course at around 7pm to play a few holes of golf...last night was our greatest success; we got 7 holes done before the whining (Sawyer's) commenced!

To that little guy's credit, he sure has been a trooper. He sleeps, he checks out his mommy's swing, he watches his daddy's putts, he plays with his own bright yellow golf ball, he's a willing participant in the game we have to play to avoid the sprinklers.

Last night I even par'd (parred? pared? had a par?) hole 6!

We even were the lucky recipients of a visit by this little guy:

Yikes! Wheeling Sawyer along the cartpath we screeched to a hault when I found what, at first glance, looked to be a lobster. In reality it was a giant, lost crawdad, some 50 yards from its pond hangout.

If you're ever in need of an unusual fauna encounter on a golf course, I'm your woman: I've hit a deer in the arse, been stalked by a 6 foot iguana, watched a duck get its neck broken by a ball (awful), had a squirrel pick up my golf ball and attempt to carry it off, and probably other incidents I'm forgetting.

Night wakingsssss

So.

Somebody must have slipped and told Sawyer that I loved seeing him during the night. Because now I see him 4, 5, 6 times a night. Every night. And I do love that little boy.

But, Sawyer, son, while you may want to see your mommy hourly from 11pm until 6am, the feeling isn't mutual. Any time you want to go back to sleeping 4 hour blocks, I'd be grateful.

If you pee your entire jammies and the crib sheet (as you did last night), I will change you.

If you get scared and need to know I'm still around, I'll hold you.

If you get hungry, I will feed you.

But if I come into your room after being woken by your cries and you giggle at me, son, that isn't nice.