When I said a week or two ago that I’m a night owl, I didn’t expect my kid would have read it and taken it as fact. But apparently, she has. Because last night, I was up with her a couple of times.
So, perhaps I should rephrase, and say “Night Owl =/= WAKING UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT AFTER I HAVE GONE TO SLEEP ALREADY OMG ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME”.
It’s not her fault. She and I have both come down with a cold, and so one of the times I was up last night was after listening to her coughing for about 15 minutes on the monitor. The child clearly wasn’t comfortable and wasn’t sleeping, so you do what you gotta do, man. Get up, clear your head, muster the wherewithal to a) decide what medicine to give her, 2) read the incredibly tiny print on the label with tired, cold-med blurry eyes to know how much medicine to give her, and c) give her the medication without missing her mouth and schmearing all over child, jammies, blankets, and self.
But you have to do it, so you just DO.
(However, I would be remiss if I did not give Lucy and Duncan an assist on this one. Lucy, because “The Lucy Alarm” was going off because OMG THERE IS NO WATER IN MY BOWL WHOOP WHOOP WHOOOP!!!111!1!eleventy!11!”, so in order to shut The Loudest Cat In All Of Time And Space up, I had to first stagger downstairs and somehow not blind myself going from darkness to OH HOLY HELL KITCHEN LIGHT OF DOOM, and fill her water bowl. And Duncan, because he tried to sneak into That Girl’s room not once, but TWICE, and had to be chased out. They are SO helpful.)
The other wake up call we had in the wee hours is one we’ve been getting intermittently over the last few months, and that is the whole Nightmare Rescue Mission thing. Around this age, kids begin to have nightmares. Developmentally, this is a normal thing. And we tell ourselves this, frequently, once the shock of being awakened from a dead slumber by a frantically crying child wears off, and you stagger out of bed without breaking joint nor limb by becoming entangled in the bed linens during your dismount, and manage to go and attend to a sleeping yet crying child, and wake her from her bad dream, and comfort her, and get her settled back into bed, and then you find yourself LYING AWAKE FOR DOG KNOWS HOW LONG FROM THE ADRENALINE RUSH. It’s a mantra you chant, as your heart rate returns to normal, over and over — “THIS IS NORMAL, RIGHT? NOTHING IS WRONG, RIGHT?” — until you calm down enough to sleep again.
But the way I figure it, if she takes me at my word in such a fashion that I am a night owl, then surely she can forgive me for not being a morning person today, as I stumble around on limited and interrupted sleep, cranky and miserable, with a head full of concrete and numbed by cold medication. And she can forgive me for dozing off on the sofa while watching Wallace & Gromit movies, and graciously let me doze awhile, instead of shouting WAKE UP!! at the top of her lungs and laughing uproariously. And, possibly, forgive me for surrendering to the easy out of take out AGAIN this week.
Sure she can.