Well darn it. It’s now 5:03 am on Saturday and I am up with the early riser who seems to have mistaken herself for a rooster. If you haven’t read my first entry please go do so now. Really. I’ll wait. This is the way this whole blog thing works. Welcome back.
My darling Chloe used to be an early riser that would babble quietly in her crib for about an hour before demanding release. I’d still be awake but at least I could doze a bit. Now with her newfound grasp of the English language she has become rather insistent. She now stands in her crib and calls out “Helllloooooooo” at an alarming volume. She raises her voice and sounds like either a parrot or an old lady. I haven’t yet decided. This morning, my morning to get up, she started trilling at four friggin thirty in the morning. Thomas did the whole grunt and angry rollover and in my head I was saying “dammit Hazel go back to sleep for the love of god”. Nothing doing. With the added pressure of waking the other child I had to get up. Fabulous. I hope the Globe delivery man has been here so I can at least be entertained somewhat.
I must confess to doing something quasi-creepy last night. When I went up to go to bed at 11:00 (woo, wild thing). Henry was thrashing about in bed and sort of whining. I went in and settled the mighty head sweater, (don’t know where that came from) and lay down beside him for the requested snuggle. He has a queen size bed so we fit easily. He fell fast asleep and I just stared at him for about five minutes. I think he’s pretty darn beautiful but then again, Thomas and I thought that about him when he was born and all photographic evidence points to the fact he looked rather like a frog. I was pretty impressed that he could sleep so deeply with someone staring at him so intently.
The fact is that when I can’t sleep I get to feeling sort of lonely so I do the creepy stare at the nearest sleeper thing. I love the fact that if I stare at Thomas for any period of time, even if he is fast asleep, without opening his eyes he will say in a monotone voice, “stop staring at me”. Heh. It’s as if the weight of my stare wakes him up. I’m heady with power. I did this too as a child. I went through a bout of insomnia when I was about five. I must have been stressed about learning to tie my shoes or some such thing. I would toddle down the hall to my parent’s room in my footie pajamas with the trapdoor on the back. Wouldn’t it be great if they made those for adults? I digress. I would go and stand about five feet from my father and begin the intent stare with the goal to will him awake. I must admit he handled this with great aplomb and over time became used to my nocturnal wanderings without jumping six feet into the air. The weight of my stare affected him too. After a minute he would wake and fling his arm out so I could hone in for a quasi one armed hug. I would then go back to bed by myself most likely with dad thinking, “damn creepy, needy kid. Back to sleep goddamit”.
I’m a night worrier. It’s become worse as I age. Now if I am tossing and turning and bothering Thomas he will once again pipe up in his sleepy monotone voice without opening his eyes and report, “you’re fine, I’m fine, our relationship is fine, the kids are fine, the house is fine, our finances and health are fine now stop thinking and go to sleep”. He just doesn’t get the night worries. He has reasoned that he can’t do anything in the middle of night so one might as well just sleep. Ah if it were only that simple. Men.
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