to sleep, perchance to hear my son screaming in my ear

Several times this morning, I was startled awake by someone crying. I had hoped it was just Mike weeping in a different voice so I could just chide him with, “How many times have I told you not to watch Beaches before you go to bed?!?! I guess being insensitive to touching the tale of two women learning that they’re not so different after all doesn’t seem so bad now, does it?!?”

Nathan cried at sometime after midnight and again after three. Normally, I respond to his pleas with sweet maternal dulcet tones (at least that’s how I hope my man-voice sounds), but if you disrupt my Colin Firth/Javier Bardem dream—which isn’t nasty, you dirty-minded people, we just have a clam bake with Gidget and Moondoggy! I say Yes Country to Old Men!—this is what you get: “THE HELL, NATHAN!?! THE HELL!”

And Nathan wasn’t exactly clear in what was ailing him. He started angrily pulling at his collar, like he suddenly realized that he had clothes on and how dare his mother stuff him into footed pajamas! This is body is vintage 2006! The nerve! The audacity!

Nathan still sleeps with us, even though his room houses our old queen-sized bed. There’s no way we can cage him into a crib or a toddler bed. There is no turning back. We have really screwed up this one. I can’t let him cry it out since he’ll be crying it out in my ear and especially since he already knows how to shimmy his way down the stairs and to our front door. What’s next? Jimmying our car door open, hotwiring it and subsequently crashing into a Gymboree?

But by virtue of having us as parents, couldn’t we say that we lost this battle a long time ago?

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Comments

  1. Type (little) a says:

    Can’t coherent sentences. Post too funny.

    First the Javier Bardem/Mr Darcy dream. First you say don’t be dirty, and then you say “clam Bake”…

    then the vintage pjs…

    and finally, the crashing the car into GYmboree.

    Leads to EVERYONE in the office knowing I am not working, because I RARELY giggle this long over a bank statement.

  2. skiplovey says:

    “Vintage 2006”, too funny.
    Wow, rough on the whole sleeping thing. I feel so much better about our little midnight warbler. At least he’s down the hall. And yes you are totally screwed, my sister and her hubs have the exact same problem with their kid. He’s three and he won’t leave their bed. I think he’s realized that queen sized pretty much trumps a piddly toddler bed so dream on ‘rents!

  3. Chickenbells says:

    Well, I suppose you guys could just move into his bedroom and share the toddler bed instead?

  4. Mrs. Blogoway says:

    I can’t say anything.. I still have a ten year old that sleeps with me:-)

  5. Julie Pippert says:

    Oh no you aren’t screwed.

    My kids by 2 and 3 slept by themselves in their rooms. And we coslept.

    Of course you will have to move houses, buy new beds, and implement the heartless parenting for a week that seems like a year. (KIDDING! It wasn’t hard. I SWEAR! And no trauma. We only did the first two pieces.)

    GL with the sleep. I bet he’s got some development going on. Growth, teeth, skills.

    You’ll want to slap me and that’s okay, it’s just karma for me, but I promise you this too shall pass (and come back and pass again).

  6. Julie Pippert says:

    Wow, all strung together alone like that? Growth teeth skills? That looks really mad creepy. SORRY!

  7. Aaaaah, the sleep issues of the wee ones.

    A subject I wish I knew nothing about.

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