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If it matters…

And it probably doesn’t.  I hoisted our son into our bed at 2:47 this morning.  And called it good.  That I found him in the hallway outside our door crying for mommy, ursurped my better judgment. 

And guaranteed me an extra set of bags below my eyes.  Roomy ones, too.

It’s just the space my son left for me in my own bed wasn’t enough to not worry about slipping off the side.  So I arced around him. Much like I would’ve when I was ten and sharing my bed with the cat.  And I tried to sleep.  Only I couldn’t just hovering there on the edge, no covers on my back, and with my son patting my face, his eyes still closed.

So I shoved a pillow in between us.  And scootched him to the middle.  Because, by golly, it was my bed–heh heh.  And it was three a.m. and I was out of generosity.  And because–strangely–I can’t sleep with someone poking me and worming around in the covers beside me or pushing on me to see if I’m still there.  For the record (if there is one)…I am still there.  I’m just bracing for the next kick.

Which landed across my stomach and soundly seat-belted me to the bed.

I’d like to say at this time that a wiser mother would have removed the locked leg from her stomach with both arms, unhoisted her child from the bed and tiptoed him back to his bottom bunk. 

But, uh, that woman was not around.

So for the next three hours, I dodged wild limbs and tapping toes,  flinched in anticipation of wayward arms, resituated the pillow barrier to give some false sense of security; and prayed for the miracle of energy without having to sleep to get it.

Because at six a.m. a rested little boy, grabbed my cheeks with both hands and declared it was morning. 

And so it was.

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One Response to “The Young and the Restless”

  1. Sarah says:

    This Mom has learned very recently to put the kid back. I think the grumpy husband until the next bedtime came was the push. He is no longer welcome to perform his sleeping acrobat act in our bed at night

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