Panic Attack

We've been working hard at getting Rory to go to sleep in his big boy bed by himself, and I mistakenly thought we were finally getting things under control. Last night, Hoby put him to bed, and since he didn't take a nap, it wasn't a surprise when everything got quiet upstairs fairly quickly. Hoby and I actually had a few hours together and I was patting myself on the back for getting back into some semblence of a routine.

Two hours later, we head up to bed, and Hoby goes to check on our sleepy head while I go put on my pajamas. Two seconds later, I hear Hoby say rather loudly, "Stacy, WHERE IS RORY?!". And I think, kinda late for a joke, isn't it? Hoby appears at our bedroom door and says, "No, really - WHERE IS RORY? He's not in his room!" and I can see by the look on his face that he's TOTALLY NOT KIDDING. And suddenly, I can't breathe.

We start to look in all the other rooms upstairs - the bathroom (maybe he's in the bathtub sleeping?), the laundry room (did he climb into the dryer?), until finally, Hoby opens the door to his office (which is off limits to Rory) and there is he is - fast asleep on the couch. And once my lungs had a chance to re-inflate, and all of the horrible visions of missing children ads on milk cartons stopped blurring my vision, I smothered my Rory with kisses until we tucked him back into his bed, safe and sound.

Rory, don't ever scare your Mama like that again!