Random Girl Strikes Again

All things wise and wonderful... and some really dumb... and mostly random

Tuesday, September 09, 2003

Man do I miss sleeping alone.

I don't mean like I did before I was married, because that type of sleeping alone really bites. I mean sleeping in a bed using all 4 of my pillows without sharing with Elmo, Baby Elmo, and Mickey Mouse and waking to someone sticking a finger up my nose while he chants "Boogie", and another small being frantically clawing at my shirt and drooling all over my boob. As far as I can remember, my hubby has never sat on my head and announced he was poopy.

Yes, I admit it. I'm a mommy. One of the legions of sleep deprived, spit soaked, stained shirted, kiddie show song singing ladies responsible for rearing the next generation of great Americans. I am one of those women who dance and make faces in the grocery store aisle to keep the baby from crying, nurse a secret crush on Joe from "Blue's Clues", and think that a really good day is one in which I actually get to go to the bathroom without an audience and remember to brush my teeth.

Back to the sleep thing. My son wakes up every hour on the hour after about 2 a.m. to ask in the most piteous voice ever if he can lay down on mommy's pillows. I tell him that it is still time for him to be sleeping and that he has to stay in his bed. He waits just long enough for me to start falling back asleep before he shrieks HELP! So as any good mommy does, I jump out of bed and run to his crib with the image of him dangling over the rail about to land on his head in my mind, only to find he needs to have his blanket smoothed out over him again. Fix and repeat till I get tired of it around 6 a.m. and let him into my bed.

The wiggly drooler is another matter all together. My daughter is 4 months old and seems to have the idea in her head that she is entitled to nurse everytime she wakes up in the night. I've had a hell of a time explaining to her that she can make it to morning without chowing down on mom all night. I think I'd probably do better if she actually understood anything I said. The whole time I'm talking to her she is doing her best imitation of a pig who knows there are some truffles hidden under my shirt. The best part is that while my brain is trying to logically ignore her whimpers and snuffles, my boobs have a mind of their own. I usually end up soaked regardless. So she comes to bed with us too. And so I spend the night with my boobs out for all to see, a sweaty little person kneeing me in the butt and trying to steal my last pillow, and an industrial strength shop vac stuck to my front.

God I love my kids..... but boy do i miss sleeping alone.


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