Every single morning at about 10:30 I grab a big ol bottle of milk, hoist him into the easy chair with me and wind him down. Within minutes he's guzzling the milk and rubbing his eyes, starting to slowly drift into the ether of sleep. After a few more minutes I get up and start carryng him upstairs where his bedroom and crib are. Now, as I said, this is the EXACT same every day. Yet at no point has he figured out what this series of events lead to; I can read his mind what he must be thinking each time:
"Oh boy, that milk was great! Hey, where's the Manny taking me....hey, up the stairs! Great! Hey look, the hallway upstairs! This is awesome! Where we going - aquarium? Zoo? Meeting my buddy Luke? Hey, we're in my bedroom now! Great! This is awesome! Wow, my crib! Looky here! We're going to my crib, alright! Alright, now we...hey, wait a fucking second...he's lowering me into the crib! What the FUCK is happening??!! Oh shit, it's naptime! FuuuuuuuuuccckK!!!" at which point he flips out bitching and screaming. Until of course 30 seconds later when he's face down, fanny in the air sleeping.
"Hahahaha!! Yeah Xmastime, I'm really 'sleeping', you stupid fat fuck! Now get the fuck out!"
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