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Lying in bed the other night, I was mentally composing a Craigslist ad for my 16-month-old son:

"V. attractive male toddler, excellent health, to good home. Best offer."

or

"Cute, blond baby boy, 16 mo., as-is condition."

A perfect storm of emerging molars, a wretched cold/cough, over-tiredness and toddler determination have been conspiring to keep us up around the clock, and the other night we were in the eye of the hurricane. Nothing was right in Alister's world. He cried at bedtime, he woke numerous times throughout the night, he rose at 5:30 a.m. Grumpy.

He wasn't sick enough to be lethargic, luckily. However, that meant his normal zeal for scaling things and moving furniture was intact, only he was a whining, chair-throwing brute instead of his normal, adventurous but good-natured self.

Yesterday morning, with my mom on her way from Victoria, I feared that I'd have a toddler scaling my leg her entire visit. But happily, he went to her right away, and turned on the Grandma charm with his little baby-talk stories, dancing and smiles.

Maybe the tooth is through. Maybe his congestion is clearing. Maybe, just maybe, the sleep gods will start to smile upon us.