Sam is sleeping better--almost through the night but not quite. Despite his strides in sleeping, John and I are still finding ourselves a bit sleep deprived. And I think I finally know why. Last night around 11 pm we found ourselves in the midst of a moral quandary.
John: Ugh, I’ve got a mosquito bite on my leg. Right on my….what do you call it again?
Me: Call what?
John: That fleshy part on the back of the bottom of your leg?
Me: Your calf?
John: Yeah, my calf. I’ve got mosquito bites on my calf. I’ll bet that part tastes good. If I ever had to eat myself I would start with my calf. It’s a good mixture of muscle and fat.
Me: Yeah, start with your calf first before eating other parts of your body. Start low and work your way up—
John: No, I’m not going to eat myself, I meant if someone else ever had to eat me they should start with my calves.
Me: So like, I should start with your calf?
John: If I was you and you was me.
Me: You can eat me, too.
John: I don’t think I would want to eat you.
Me: Well, if you had to. If I was already dead and you had to eat me to survive, you could.
John: I don’t want to.
Me: I want you to eat me if it means you’ll survive.
John: But I don’t think I could bring myself to eat you. I wouldn’t feel right about it.
Me: Okay, how about if it was in order for Sam to survive. Would you let Sam eat me?
John: I can’t let Sam eat his mother.
Me: He already does.
John: That’s totally different. You drink milk, you don't drink cow.
Me: I’m just saying, if I’m already dead and you need to eat something in order to survive, eat me.
John: Oh. Like hufu.
And, getting this important bit of dialogue out of our systems, we finally fell asleep.