I don’t understand this about children. I mean, to a certain extent I do. I get that they don’t want to miss anything and they think mom and dad are hella cool, but c’monnnnn, sleep is WAY better. We suck compared to sleep.
Crying It Out
JB
319

Not just parents, btw. First night we had our five-year-old nephew over, I (the new uncle, at that point, married a few months) was awakened in the dark to a finger poking my chest. “Unca Chack!” Big whisper. [This is not the first whisper, says my hindbrain, the part of me that listens for intruders, leaking water, and strange noises.] Poke. Poke. “UNCA CHACK!” Poke. “Are you awake?” [Intruder, says hindbrain. Take violent action? Because of course I haven’t programmed the poor dumb thing for kids yet. No no no, stand down, I got this.] “Jid? Chawant?” I reply. Or words to that effect. “Can I sleep wicchu?” he asks. WTF? Fortunately, NO words to that effect. Deb is awake by this point (she does that, especially when she’s in Aunt Debbie mode) takes charge and pulls Jarid into bed between us. At which point I learn about kids and spasmodic sleeping and not leaving body parts where they can be kicked unexpectedly.

So. Caffeine pills. Wonderful stuff. Faster than coffee and more portable. Just saying.

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