Sleep My Little Friend

First off, Matilda received her report card yesterday. She was off the scale. Better grades than I ever got. Naturally we’re very proud of her. Proud. And cautious. Because, we want to make sure that when she rules the world she doesn’t send us to the cornfield. (Oblique Twilight Zone reference, to anyone who didn’t get it.)

Back to sleep . . .

Gertrude is finally getting her circadian rhythms in sync with the rest of the world. After some rough and angry nights, she’s beginning to make it through the night comfortably in her new big girl bed. Granted, she may wake up with her head where her feet were when she fell asleep, but she’s getting the hang of it. When we were getting dressed this morning she wandered into our room rubbing the sleep out of eyes.

“Hey, you slept all night,” I said.

“Yeah,” she replied blithely, “I know.”

“I know” is now her favorite phrase. Because, in her two-year-old mind, we’re all idiots.

This smoothness wasn’t evident a few nights ago. She went to bed under protest, of course. (As with every night . . . Last night when she told me she didn’t want to go to bed I asked why she responded, “Because I hate it.” Now, if you really know this kid, you’d know that hate isn’t something she’s capable. She loves EVERYTHING. In fact, when she discovered the surprise CD of her favorite song that I put in her CD player yesterday she squealed with excitement, ran across the house and leapt into my arms in gratitude.)

That night she slept well until about 1 a.m. Mom got up, soothed, and got her back to sleep. Rinse, later and repeat every 30 minutes. Finally, mom gave up and dumped the kid in our bed, I guess under the theory that if she didn’t get to sleep, no one did. Gert fell right to sleep.

Half an hour later I awaken with seizing cramps in my back. Not sure why, I look at my sleeping situation. Mom and I are sleeping parallel to one another. Gertrude, however, has made a perpendicular line between the two of us so that we look like an “H”. Except, rather than being equidistant between the two of us, she’s crammed solidly up against my body with her head in my armpit. Meanwhile, the cat is diagonally across from Gert on the other side of my body, down by my feet. In order to sleep, I have to do so in an “S” shape. And it hurt.

At roughly 4 a.m. I squeezed out of bed to use the bathroom. On my way I hear a piercing wail from Gert, with Mom reassuring her that I’ll be right back. When I crawl back in bed, Gert stops crying and snuggles right up against me (but forcing me to sleep on about ¼ of an inch of the bed . . . in fact, it was more hovering than laying). She hugs my arm and falls right to sleep.

And at that point my frustration with the sleeping situation melted away. I was being well-loved by this little goober. Who am I to complain about my lot in life?

Last night, as with any other night, it was just me versus the cat. She won too.

Sigh. I live in a house of all females. I step in puddles of estrogen when I walk down the hall. I am doomed.