I was awake at 2am this morning. Not because of pregnancy heartburn, difficulty finding a comfortable sleeping position, or the tiny, nocturnal kick-boxer taking up temporary residence within my uterus. No, I can sleep through all that. But what I can't seem to sleep through is my 3 year old yelling with all his might for someone to come and get him from his crib. I also have a hard time sleeping through this same child kicking with great fury at a musical toy attached to the side of his crib. Since Sam has no intelligible words he simply increases his vocalizations until someone responds. And since his coordination could use a lot of fine tuning he completely side steps any attempt at precision when trying to activate a musical toy, instead choosing to whack aimlessly with arms or legs at any object until the desired effect is attained. So all of this was going on... at 2am... in Sam's crib... which is located right next to my bed.
By the time my alarm had gone off this morning (which it really had no need to since I had been awake since 2am... did I mention that?) I had devised a plan. I would get devil child up, feed him breakfast, deposit the older child at school, return home and fall into a deep sleep with the younger spawn who would surely be tired by that time. But he wasn't tired. He wasn't even grumpy. He was downright fucking cheery. By the time he was ready to nap it was time to go get the older one from school and I'd given up hope for recovering any sleep for myself.
This story could have ended in a very ugly way had it not been for the nice woman I paid to rub my feet tonight and paint my toes an uplifting sunny yellow. Thank you, Julie. And thank you Happy Nails.
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