Giddy-up, my ASS!

Yeah. Around 2AM, Kevin woke up. That's not unusual. He normally wakes up, takes some bottle and goes right back to sleep. When he woke up last night, he didn't WANT his bottle. Uh-oh. That's never a good sign. That usually means I'm in for a night of holy hell. I changed him even though he didn't need changed, but I was shooting arrows in the dark hoping against all hope that I could prevent the meltdown that was about to come. I turned on the musical mobile with the pretty lights and stars and shit that project onto the ceiling. He loves this thing, but it only stays on for, like, 5 mother fucking minutes. Why would the makers of this item do this to me?! We bought it at a consignment shop so we have no instructions. If there's a way to make it stay on longer, I can't figure it out. The second it shut off he started screaming like somebody was putting a hot branding iron to him. I picked him up. Now, here's where I have to tell you how Kevin was, apparently, a cowboy in another life. Lately, he's been trying to steer us and make us go like he's riding a freakin' horse. He kicks his heels against me, pats me with his hand and leans. Kinda cute in the daytime. Not so much at 3AM. When I picked him up, he proceeded to try to ride me. I said to him, and I quote, "Giddy-up my ass, boy!". Why, yes, yes I did. As if he could understand me, or some damn thing. I'm sorry, but there is no way in hell I was taking him downstairs and him thinking that this was cool with me and, hot damn! we'll have a party every night! I held him for a bit and then put him back in his crib, whereupon he had a bleedin' temper tantrum. I left the room and came downstairs. Oh, yes I did. He yelled...not cried...for about 15 minutes and then, blessedly, fell asleep. Bad Mommy, but, shit, he just wanted to play and I am not going there in the middle of the night, nuh-uh. No way. I got back to bed at about 4AM.