Monday, June 19, 2006

Sleeping Beauty (or is that the beast?)

The Small(er) One is on sleep strike and I am re-enacting The Night of the Living Dead. Last night she wailed and whined and screamed and yelled pitifully for rescue, starting with a plaintive plea of "Mummy! 'Elp me!", then running through all the names of family members she could remember, and finally ending with "Teddy!"

Ignoring a seemingly desperate child is a tough call (although if I recall, we were fairly stern with Firstborn; maybe the guilt of working full-time is chipping away at my resilience). The Small(er) One worked herself up to the kind of blood curdling screams worthy of a Hammer Horror, resulting in Firstborn racing into our bedroom with her hands over ears and shouting "Make it stop!", at which point lying in bed gritting our teeth and hoping she would cry herself out seemed like an exercise in S&M (trust me, a gimp suit would have been more relaxing). Alpha Male and I ended up clinging to the sides of our bed for the rest of the night, with the Small(er) One in a starfish pose slap bang in the middle. Firstborn, poor love, passed out in the foetal position at the very end of the bed, groaning and grumbling at her misfortune in having a nocturnal beast for a sister.

Going into work this morning was a flashback to my early twenties, without the fun that used to come before the severe sleep deprivation after-effects. My auto-pilot haze was so severe that I felt surprised when I emerged from the tube station; my brain was still deep underground.

I'm starting to look forward to the girls reaching puberty. The thought of them staying in bed all day seems like an impossible dream...


QueenBee Confessions said...

Oh, I can so relate! I am anxiously
awaiting the sleeping in days. I am
just waiting for the sleeping thru
the night days.

I am one of the walking dead with you!

Emily said...

I am the waking dead too. It started last year with:

I run up stairs in total fear that she has trapped herself in her cot bars, to see her blanket has fallen off and she wants it back.


A sleeping bag curtailed that for a while. Nothing like mumification.

Now in a bed, the calls for help range from imaginary crabs or spiders in the bed, even pretend sand. Or she wants a book to look at from downstairs, water or a teddy we haven't seen for weeks.

Up and down the stairs every night. I wish I lived in a bungalow.

She's getting better now but always plays up when something important is happening, such as an England football match!