Let’s talk about sleep for a minute. It’s been a hot topic in our house for the last 7.5 years. We are finally at a point where sleep books don’t dominate my nightstand and I don’t need three cups of coffee in order to socialize with other humans. We consider ourselves pretty lucky in that our kids don’t have a problem going to bed. We don’t have an 18-step procedure that needs to be completed like assembling a piece of furniture from Ikea. Ours is more of a drop-and-run sort of situation. We give a couple of kisses and then run like hell towards our 2 hours of arguing over what to watch on tv before we fall asleep on the couch. We are also lucky because all of our children basically sleep through the night. Basically. With a couple of creepy exceptions.
One of our children, has a special talent. This child can move about silently if they choose to do so. This is not true of our other children. They move around like drunks at the end of a long night. Don’t worry, they have other creepy gifts. This chosen child wakes up more nights than not and comes into our room. He just appears like an apparition.
When you were here before, couldn’t look you in the eye. You’re just like an angel, your skin makes me cry. You float like a feather.
You’re probably guessing what happens next: said child comes to stand next to me and wills me to wake up with steady, heavy breathing and non-blinking eyes. You’d be right if this was the first couple of times. But, as it turns out, I don’t like to be woken up at 3:00am with creepy, silent stares. As fate would have it, I actually lose my shit. I say things denounced in all parenting books and the Bible, and follow it up with what can only be considered a growl. So now this child sidles up to their father’s side of the bed. I almost feel guilty about how this unfolded. Almost. Sounds like I’m the creep in this scenario, right? Fact check: I’M NOT THE ONE STANDING IN THE DARK STARING AT A SLEEPING PERSON.
I’m a creep. I’m a weirdo. What the hell am I doing here? I don’t belong here.
My obliging, non-growling husband dutifully gets up and walks this child back to their bed, where they belong. And this goes on and on, night after night. I really did marry a good man. Like every other guilt-ridden and desperate mother, I did my fair share of Googling to solve this problem. Then I went to Amazon Prime, because let’s be honest, those two things go hand-in-hand. Two days and $75 later, I’m rubbing oils on this child’s tummy and feet. And NOW we have a bedtime procedure. Ironic, isn’t it?
Parenting is a giant game of whack-a-mole, if you ask me. Issues are constantly appearing at random and are begging to be addressed. Then, as soon as you get one thing under control, another problem pops up. Thankfully, I get more sleep than my husband so I don’t suffer from impaired motor skills. I am ready and waiting with mallet in hand for my next round and whatever new creepy thing my kids want to bring to the table.
Whatever makes you happy. Whatever you want.
Suburban Rhapsody 