Once again, I'm sick. And I'm pretty cranky about it. This is the second cold I've had this summer, and it's really cramping my style. Henry, too, is sick. Obviously, we've identified the source of the germs' infestation into our household. We're leaving Thursday for a week vacation in Florida, to visit my in-laws, and I very much want to be better by then.
With the germs come an epidemic of nighttime coughing, and it's affecting all of our sleep. Our current sleep situation with Henry is that he won't stay in his room the whole night. He falls asleep in there, and inevitably he gets up in the night, is scared, and so comes in and sleeps on our floor. We leave a little pillow and blanket set up for him. Because we survived the newborn and infant phase, we have a different parental outlook on sleep than we used to - we will do anything, *anything* I tell you, to get sleep. We're too traumatized to have it any other way.
Saturday night, I ended up sleeping on Henry's floor, so that he would stay in his bed. When he tries to sleep on the floor he just coughs and coughs. As one would expect, I didn't sleep very well. Thus, last night we had a new strategy - Mike chivalrously offered to sleep in the guest room so that I could hack unabashedly, and when Henry came in, he could just sleep with me in our bed.
Well. The night transpires as follows: After well wishes and a kiss, Mike heads downstairs to the guest room. I blissfully finish my book and immediately reach for the TV remote. Amazing Wedding Cakes is on WE. Blessed day. Just as they were delving into the fondant and making me really hungry, I hear a clap of thunder. There were thunderstorms earlier in the day, so I wasn't surprised, but I knew this meant Hank would awaken and join me earlier than anticipated. I venture out of the room to investigate. A peek through the front window details streaky lightening that looks quite frightful. I checkd on Hank and find him sleeping angelically. I head back in to my room for more cake. I set the TV's sleep timer, and was just dozing off, when...
*CRACK OF THUNDER* *tiny feet padding on the ground* *CatholicLibrarian sighs*
Now, I was looking forward to Hank coming into bed with me. I haven't slept in the bed with my baby since he was a few months old, and I was anticipating it as some sort of womb reenactment. Hank and I cuddling, feeling so content that his sweet little body was safe, secure and comfortable...
He bangs into the room. I grab his Batman pillow and tuck him into the bed. I lay down as well, and make a painful realization - sleeping with Henry is like sleeping with myself. Covers are yanked violently to the other side of the bed; tossing and turning abound; elbows, feet and hips are jutted randomly over onto my side. I actually started to feel some sympathy for Mike. It took quite a long time for both of us to fall asleep, particularly with the coughing mixed in. Finally, we're both asleep...
*CRACK OF THUNDER* *pound, pound, pound, POUND POUND POUND go the angry raindrops on the outside of our window AC units*
Naturally, Hank and I both awaken. More coughing. More cover yanking and preschooler body parts stabbing me in the ribs. Finally, we're both asleep...
*BOOM!!!!* Thunder? No, that would my son's precious 45 lb. body hitting the floor like a slate of roofing shingles. I hurry to the side of the bed to find Hank dazed and confused, trying to bed down with Teddy on the floor. I get him back up into bed and settled. About an hour later, I fall back to sleep...
Hank stirs beside me. I awaken. Glance at the clock. 6:15. I say a very bad word that I should go to confession for. I'm *exhausted* And my coughing is somehow *worse* I'm very, very cranky about this.
When I crankily reported in for breakfast downstairs, I find my husband reading the newspaper, an expression of pure bliss on his face. I demand to know how his night was, and he answers "oh, just great!" When I inquired if he heard the thunder, and Henry coming to our room at *10:30* he replies "thunder? Hank got up that early?" I think this is grounds for an annulment. A moth flutters in the other room and I wake up. This is so unfair.
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