I don’t know where a four year old picks up lying but it has gotten to the point just before getting out of control in our house. I hate asking, “What did you do to make your brother cry?” and getting an evasive, “Nothing.”
It’s no secret that I’m sick. I have been for about 3 weeks and some change. Whether it’s allergies or something horrifying like walking pneumonia or mono (thank you, WebMD), I don’t know. It doesn’t help that sleeping through the night is a myth to me. You’d think I was a newborn baby or something but it certainly isn’t ME that isn’t capable of sleeping through the night. My sleep thief goes by the name of Linus aka Stinky aka Sir Streaker.
You see, he’s sick too. And I should feel sorry for him in the middle of the night when he sneaks into my room and stares at me. Or when he starts poking me with his snotty fingers. But it’s 2am and reasoning with me is out of the question. I can honestly say at 2am, I do not fire on all cylinders. I am cranky, unthinking, confused and C-R-A-Z-Y at 2am. 2am seems to be his magic number too. EVERY SINGLE NIGHT his alarm clock (I have yet to find it in his room and go Office Space on it) goes off and he slithers in. Sometimes he’s sniffling, sometimes he just stares (CREEPY!) and sometimes he’ll swing my door WIDE open, crashing it against the door stopper and says, “DA DEE!”
(I hate being called daddy. I mean, how hard is it to say “Mommy”? MOM MEE. See? It’s easy! I know he can say it, he has done it once or twice, but for some reason, he calls me daddy and I don’t like it!)
Last night was no different. I get crazy pretty fast at 2am, so when he fights me to sit on the potty or straight up arm wrestles me with his syringed tylenol to help his fever and aches; crazy mommy is biding her time to tangle with him. After forcing him to swallow the tylenol, I lay him down to sleep. He lays still for about 5 seconds then he starts thrashing and crashing about.
I certainly can’t sleep under these conditions but I try for about 45 minutes and then I scoop him up and take him back to his bed. I lay him down, make sure he has all his blankets and his thumb (Heaven forbid that ever goes missing!), I kiss him on his forehead and rush out of his room and shut his door. I listen to him cry as I stumble back into bed. Not even a minute later, my door slams open, he runs in, grabs MY water bottle and high tails it back to his room knowing full well I’m going to chase his twerpy backside down.
Crazy mommy starts twitching at the corner of my half opened eye.
I start cussing under my breath.
I make it back to his room where he has swiftly hurled himself under his covers and my water bottle is clenched tight in his arms. He’s not even drinking out of it! I snatch it up and head back to my bed. He screams. I start to question my methods, if you can even call them that. He’s achy. His throat probably hurts. He’s cold. He just wants to cuddle. What is WRONG with me?
I turn around and meet him halfway. I pick him up and lay him back on his bed and say, “What do you want from me? I’m sick too! You’re not going to sleep in my bed! You keep kicking me! I need sleep in order to take care of you, little boy!”
He whimpers. COME ON ALREADY! When do I get MY break?!
I start whimpering too. I walk out of his room knowing full well he’ll follow me and I don’t care. I crawl back into bed. He sneaks in without opening the door this time. He creeps over to where my water bottle SHOULD be but it’s not there. I lean over the bed, grab him and his twenty thousand blankets and lay him on the other side of our queen size mattress. I stuff a pillow between us and I give him my back.
Next thing I know, it’s 7am, crazy mommy has been contained via furry handcuffs in the depths of my mind and Linus is bright eyed and bushy tailed ready to pounce on any obstacle that comes between him and the tv remote. Good morning, Linus.