There have been a million movies where the good guy has to defuse a bomb and does so under extraordinary circumstances. None of those celluloid heroes has anything on me.
My son has been waking up at 5 a.m. lately. This morning, I got him and tried to rock him to sleep. He was in and out of consciousness, kind of moaning and groaning. I knew the chances were about even that I could get him back to sleep.
That's when the wild card came into play: an ominous smell coming from his diaper.
If I changed the diaper, I knew the game was over. He would freak out and wake up for good. So I sat there rocking him, knowing he had a big load in his pants. Was it wrong not to change him? Hell yeah, but I wasn't about to wake him up for good.
Then, as I sat in the rocking chair at about 5:30 a.m., the second wild card was dealt: I had to go to the bathroom.
There were two choices: put him in the crib prematurely and have him go off or join him in the dirty diaper club.
I put him in the crib.
He freaked out but after I returned from the bathroom, I was able to put him back to sleep. I went to bed around 5:58 a.m. Then, the third wild card came: I couldn't fall back asleep.