I’ve rewritten this because, honestly, the first draft was an interminable bitch session about work. I felt immediately better after writing it, and I didn’t want to subject y’all to it, so here’s the rewrite.
I honestly don’t understand how people in this plant can listen to the news while they’re on break. If I’m going to watch TV while I’m eating (which doesn’t happen often), I’m going to watch Howl’s Moving Castle or maybe Meerkat Manor if Duckie insists.
I’m certainly not going to surround myself with images of bombs, pedophiles, and corrupt politicians. No. Freaking. Way. How disconnected do you have to be to have that crap on in the background and not lose your lunch?
Two nights ago, Duckie slept through the night in her own bed again. It’s happening slightly more often, so there is hope that maybe by the time she’s eleven or twelve we’ll all be able to sleep through the night – every night.
Last night made up for it. She woke up at two (I think) and I took her back to bed, groggy as hell. I stumbled back into our bedroom, doing everything I could not to lay down with her, even though the pillow is already indented with the shape of my head by now.
I heard her holler a few minutes later, and Brian got up to take a peek.
“Go ‘way!” she screamed. “I want Mommy!”
I literally fell out of bed trying to get to her. Her ear was hurting her something awful last night – I’m guessing it’s referred pain from her molars coming in; that’s usually what it is these days. Hoping it’s not an ear infection. Either way, it sucks to be her.
I tried to coax her back to sleep – no good. She wanted a band-aid for her ear. I said no, she screamed. Which couldn’t have helped her ear.
After convincing her to take some medicine, I staggered around the house trying to find the Tylenol. Afterwards, we read her two favorite bedtime books again (The Very Quiet Cricket and Sheep In A Jeep, if you’re interested) and lay back down.
Then we went back to the bathroom, because she had to go potty.
Then we curled back up in bed. She said, “I love you, Mommy. My dragon is flying” and fell asleep.
I heard my cell phone alarm through the door to her room. Damned thing is piercing and loud – and it gets louder the longer you ignore it. Painful enough to get me out of bed and all the way into the kitchen to turn the damned thing off – which is what it’s supposed to do, after all.
Getting me up was easy compared to getting her up. She is, in that sense, her father’s daughter. She likes to kick and scream in the mornings. (I usually do that in the afternoons when I’m hungry.)
I tried twice, Brian tried twice, and finally I asked if I could lay down with her. After a few minutes of talking softly and playing the “pretty pretty dress” card (not to mention shamelessly exploiting her morning thirst for juice), I managed to get her up and out of bed. I followed through with the pretty pretty dress promise, and added a hoodie sweater, because sweaters always make me feel better when I’m miserable. Kinda like wearing a blanket.
I hate it that I can’t stay home with her on days like today. And I love it that her teachers will give her extra attention and kisses, and that they’ll warm up their hands and keep one over her ear, because it makes her feel better.