Will was napping in his "big boy bed" yesterday and he had his first nightmare. Or at least, the first one where he articulated very clearly that it was a nightmare. No, he didn't say "Mommy, I had a nightmare," but let's just say it was pretty clear.
He woke up from his nap SCREAMING. Being the best kid in the entire universe (today, at least), he won't get out of bed after a nap. He usually yells for me or Mark and then we have to go get him. Annoying? No. WONDERFUL. No fear that he is going to plummet to his death on the stairs while wandering around in a sleepy stupor. He just yells for us and we fetch. We're really very well trained. Anyway, yesterday's was not the normal "come fetch me" scream. It was horror. Sheer horror. Jack and I ran up the stairs (ok, I ran... Jack was carried) to check on him and he was bawling. We're talking full on hysterical sobs. When I got into the room he yelled "skeetoes in my nose, Mama! Skeetoes in my nose!" He clawed at his nose like an anteater who accidentally inhaled a beehive. (I don't know where I get these similes. I am sorry.)
It took quite a while to calm him down. Cuddling in my bed was involved. Puppa (pronounced poop-a thanks to Will) his decapitated dog head sewed to a blanket was involved. Finally, the Teletubbies were involved. While watching the Teletubbies, he saw 10 ducks and felt obligated to turn to me and let me know "if you no help me with skeetoes in my nose, Mama, the ducks help me." So, apparently not only did my kid have a nightmare about mosquitoes in his nose, but his craptastic mom was no help at all and he is turning to water fowl for assistance. Is there some Mother of the Year award I might qualify for?