Both kiddies were asleep before 8 p.m., and I had already written 1700 words, so I celebrated by scouring crafting blogs and sites looking for something to make for my relatives that I will now be visiting for Christmas (yay me). I should have gone to sleep, instead. I should have known that something was amiss. No parent gets THAT lucky by 8 p.m. (At least, not me, ever.)
12:30 a.m.: I wake to screaming, terrified baby. I rush in to his room, comfort him, and take him downstairs to warm up his bottle. *Baby screams as if I am a monster* I change his diaper. *Baby continues screaming and I wonder if I AM a monster* He drinks his milk. The bottle empties and he wants more. *SCREAM SCREAM SCREAM*
12:40 a.m.: My 3 year old, on the other side of the room that is divided by a curtain, wakes up, crying for me. I tell her I'll get to her when the baby gets back to sleep. *Girl cries* *Boy cries* I rush downstairs and make another bottle, wishing I still breastfed (it was easier).
12:45 a.m.: Son is finishing bottle the second time. Daughter is whining (and she's a pro). I plop baby into crib, he gets angry, but I go to daughter b/c I can't stand the whining (and she knows it).
*SCREAM SCREAM SCREAM*
1 a.m.: Husband comes to rescue. He puts baby back to sleep, after much crying and fussing.
1:10 a.m.: Daughter decides she doesn't want to go to sleep and her nose is stuffy. I administer children's nasal decongestant, even though the bottle says not to use on children under the age of four*. So I give her half the dose, just in case.
1:20 a.m.: Daughter wants me to read to her. I do. Then I tell her I'm going to sleep. She has to go potty.
1:25 a.m.: I convince daughter to come to our bed, to make sure she doesn't wake up the baby with her chattering.
1:30 a.m.: Husband returns to bed, victorious in his parenting skillz.
1:35 a.m.: Husband kicks daughter out of bed because she is squirming and kicking and won't shut up. She goes to her own bed, turns on her reading light, and reads. I pass out.
1:50 a.m.: She is at my side, whining about how she's "not happy with Luke** because he pushes me." (He pushed her, accidentally, two months ago.) I tell her to go back to bed.
2:15 a.m.: "Mommy, I'm really not happy with Luke." "What, is he here?" I go with her to her bed, lie down in it, and fall asleep.
2:17 a.m.: Daughter doesn't want me to sleep in her bed, after all. She wants me to leave. I flee.
3:00 a.m.: "Mommy, I told you I'm not happy with Luke." "WHAT? WHY? GO. TO. BED." She insists on me finding her a pad of paper and a pen. She wants to write about her feelings and how Luke annoys her. I want think about how I'll blog later about how she annoys me. I stagger to her room, find an old coloring book, and place it on her lap. She wants a book underneath for support. She wants to sit at this exact spot on the edge of her bed. I find a purple ballpoint and shove it in her hand. I somehow manage to find my bed.
4:00 a.m.: "Mommy, I can't go to sleep. I need to read. Can you get me a book? MOMMY!!!!!!!!" I go in there, shove several books on her lap, give her more paper to write on (she has scribbled lines and lines of cursive gibberish all over what I had given her an hour earlier). I return to bed and feel like I will faint.
7:00 a.m.: Husband wakes me up. I moan.
* Apparently, Children's Sudafed is concerned that parents of children under the age of four will sue them for the #1 Side Effect: A Wired Child in the Witching Hour.
** Luke is not his real name. I am concerned that his parents will sue me if I use it. Not that they even know I have a blog.
And now, the girl-child is at preschool. The boy-child-baby is at the YMCA childcare for a few hours. I am at Panera and am now ready to work on my jinn book. Even though I may pass out in public and drool on my keyboard.