So, it's one of those really bad nights when she cannot be settled back to sleep. She's up at 2 a.m., and I know she won't fall off again until 5! That's just how it goes on a really bad night. At least I know this so I'm mentally prepared, as much as one can be for 2 a.m. (I'm not a nursing mom anymore. The special post-midnight cognition hormones just aren't being produced.)
I sleep on the floor in her room and try to "sh" her to sleep. Her sound machine (minus Miami Gloria and all the conga drums) is playing "rain," which is the nicest monotony over "white noise." She kicks and thrashes. I tell her, "You're OK." She tries to sleep, then starts talking about Blue's Clues. As pleased as I am that she has choreographed her own special version of Blue and Steve's "Buddy Boogie," I don't want to hear about it at 2:37 a.m.
I try to sleep anyway. There is really nothing I can do to help her, but that doesn't mean I can say, "See ya later" either.
But, I must have dozed off. In what seems like the next minute (and perhaps it was), I awaken to the horribly loud sound of something tumbling. And, like the father in "The Night Before Christmas" poem, I sprang from my ...um...floor...to see what was the matter.
Out to the hall I go and into Daughter #1's room, because all I can imagine is that she has fallen out of the top of her bunk bed and hit every step down the ladder on her way to the bathroom. I dash into her room and find her in deep sleep--and not at the base of the ladder, either.
OK, then... a little out of breath and wondering. So, what could that have been?
I scan the upper hall and the door to each room. Thinking... Processing.... Not outside. Not a computer, Tide bottle, hubby.... Bathroom--uh...Oh!
The fish-shaped bath mat.
Usually, Fishy sticks up by his suction cups to the kids' shower wall. The air-conditioned coolness must have caused the de-suctioning, sending Fishy head first into the in-shower hand rail, off the opposite tub wall and finally, in an echoing crash--taking out the floor mat--to the tub floor.
"Fishy..." I murmur in a voice recalling Jerry Seinfeld mourning his life's woes with the mumble of a single word ("Newman...").
I return to Daughter #2's floor. Do you ever have the urge to put an inanimate object into time-out? ("But, Mom, the A.C. made me slip off the wall. It wasn't my fault.") Yeah, right. What's the use?
A few more minutes on the floor--my two knees throbbing in pain from the rug burns I received in the "sprang" and Daughter #2's now fully alive monologue--soon gave me to know I would sleep in her bed.
"But I heard her exclaim ere she tucked herself tight,
'Happy fish mess to all and to all a good night!'"
(With multiple apologies to Clement Moore)
Exactly 5 more months 'til Christmas Eve.....