1001 sleepless nightsI haven't had a decent night's sleep in 1001 nights. I have come to embrace the dark suitcases under my eyes and the vacant look that belies the state of sleep deprivation that is parenthood. There are times when I am so tired, I hallucinate, I hate that darn Chihuahua that lives in my refrigerator.
Sloan hasn't finished a night in her own bed. . . ever. Inevitably I wind up with one foot in my kidney and another kicking me in the back of my head. I have taken so many blows to the head, one of my pupils blew out in the spring of 04. Then, of course, there's the vomit; it never fails that when you finally adjust to the kicking and pushing, the child loses her cookies. I have developed cat-like reflexes, when I hear the first lip bubbling sounds of impending puke, I can jump out of bed and take my pillows with me in a split second. It's a matter of self preservation.
At three in the morning, four out of seven nights a week, Sloan wakes up and wants a sippy cup full of juice, that I have to hurdle two dogs and a baby gate to get to, and she wants to watch cartoons Now, Mommy!. I have successfully been able to thwart the need for dancing vegetables, however, I usually give into the sippy cup, which means at 3:45 I notice freezing cold apple juice covering the back of my pajamas, because a sippy cup has never been created that won't spring a leak in the middle of the night but only in Mommy's bed.
In the midst of all this, my husband, Scott, snores like a Grizzly bear with a head cold, and he talks. I have awakened more than once in the middle of the night, to Scott proclaiming his love for Emeril. Now, I love the Food Channel as much as the next girl, but there isn't one wife I know that wouldn't be more than slightly disturbed if her husband called out I love you, Emeril! in his sleep. I think I would be less concerned if Scott were shouting I love you, Pamela Anderson!, but, in fairness to Scott, I think it's a pork fat thing.
Scott and I are adopting a 5 month old infant from Guatemala and are headed down in mid-April to pick him up. I am not going to get any sleep for the next 50 years. Between the kids, and my snoring, shouting husband, I have decided there is no way I will ever get a good night's sleep again.
There are sometimes, at two in the morning, when Scott is loving Food TV and Sloan has a fuzzy pink pajama covered foot in my eye, when I think, My kingdom for a good night sleep and an uninterrupted shower. Then, I look down at my kiddo sleeping with her finger up her nose, and her other hand on her Daddy's behind and it's worth all the missed sleep just for the laughter. I LOVE YOU EMERIL!
Boise City News