Tuesday 7 a.m.
The three level townhome routine is I put him back to bed, I go back upstairs and we sleep 'til 8 or so.
I'm up on the third level. Usually I'm on the second level, sleeping on the couch but the couch got moved to mom and dad's.
This ghostly moaning reached me up there around 6:55 - it was Luther shouting for me.
I ran downstairs and he's in major distress, screaming he can't breathe and that he's been screaming for me for the last hour.
Before I got him up (I have to hug the back of his head and get him up sideways), I told him he could breathe and to relax. Wrong words. GET ME UP GET ME UP he shouted.
So I did. It took him several minutes to catch his breath. Then he went outside and smoked.
I'm up here now, venting. Feeling guilty. Pissed off the first thing he did AFTER NOT BREATHING FOR AN HOUR was smoked. Feeling guilty.
Tonight I guess I'll sleep on the floor on the second level. Maybe I'll build a fort and hide out under the covers for a while.
Off to make coffee, feed my husband. No time for guilt.