If, by chance, you wake me up in the wee hours of the morning for a bottle just when I started to sleep really deeply I have some advice for you.
When I stumble back into the bedroom, you'd better be sitting up in bed with a look of absolute adoration on your face. You should eagerly grab your bottle and drink your milk, then declare it to be the finest beverage you've ever consumed in your wee little life of one year. You should then peacefully curl up beside me and stroke my hair until I fall back to sleep while whispering sweet apologizes in my ear for being so damned demanding at such an ungodly hour.
You should not - and I'm totally serious now - you should not have fallen asleep, upside-down on my pillow. Because I know you, and I know that I can't move you right now without you pitching a fit. Which means I get to try to go to sleep with padded baby ass in my face. Guess what? Not happening. If I can smell it when your sister squirts a bit of perfume from twenty feet away and through two closed doors you'd better believe that my olfactory senses are sharp enough to inhale your night-time Huggies fumes. Even when we're talking about a perfectly fresh diaper that smell is rank.
