[Second draft, since my first was summarily deleted by the internet gods. Firefox…you suck]
I had a little difficulty sleeping last night. Blame it on general insomnia, having a lot on my mind, or being hopped up on sugar from eating too many Maltesers and Mars bars right before bedtime.
Or blame it on the 7 month old, 18 month old and 2-days-away-from-5 year old residing in our house at the moment.
My sister, brother-in-law and darling nephew arrived yesterday for a visit. My nephew is the (third) cutest boy you will ever see – smiling nonstop and rarely, if ever, fussing. Until you try to put the kid to bed. It’s a good thing he’s cute because his parents are tired from his seemingly constant state of awakeness. I honestly don’t know how he manages to be in a good mood on such little sleep. But maybe I’m just old and cranky. And tired.
We adults hit the hay around 9 last night. Crazy party animals that we are. Once we got the sleeping arrangements sorted out – where the three boys were concerned we determined separation was the modus operandus – there was peace in the house. Until about 10.30 or so when cherub nephew awoke and decided to test his lungs. Extensively.
Luckily I realized that other kids’ crying doesn’t bother me even a fraction as much as when my children scream bloody murder.
Eventually the little man fell asleep again, and the house was quiet once more. Until I heard some very strange coughing sounds emanating from the closet were Mr. G was camping for the night. Tiny bedroom without a door is really a better description, lest you think my kid is sleeping vampire style. The coughs were strange enough to prompt me to drag my weary bones out of bed.
I didn’t need a light to see (or smell) that the poor kid had puked all over his air mattress and pillow.
Kids are strange. He went to sleep in good spirits; nary a complaint that he wasn’t feeling particularly well. He woke up and puked his guts out. And, after changing his sheets and giving him a bit of ‘feel-better-drink’ (aka Gatorade), he was snoring again within ten minutes.
Around 4am or so contestant number three – our Hen – decided to throw his hat in the ring. Out of nowhere he started talking up a storm. Though the only discernible word was ma-ma. After twenty minutes – maybe more – it became apparent that he was not going to stop without some intervention. I walked in his room and handed him the items of choice that had fallen to the floor: pillowcase and pacifier, settled him in his crib and walked back out.
Since I was up I decided to ‘use the facilities’. After I’d washed my hands, I put my finger in my eye in an effort to stop the strange itching that was bothering me.
Except my finger was still covered with soap.