I've decided I'm going to write a children's book entitled "It's Bedtime, Damn It!" Lately it seems I am worn to threads manhandling my child as she romps around, all cracked up like she did sugar lines off the coffee table. This always takes place around 8pm when it is technically bedtime. It sometimes goes on until around 11pm. I feel like we rescued her from the wild the way she scratches and kicks and yells. Trying to get her into the crib is like trying to stuff a cat down a toilet.
Once she gets to bed it's hard to keep her there. She has developed a tendency to wake up periodically throughout the night and holler as if she's being treated like an inmate at Gitmo. What happened to my quiet, peaceful little baby? The one I had in the hospital those two blissful days? I think we got a lemon. She worked perfectly on the lot but the minute we drove her off she started breaking down all the time. Are there Lemon Laws for babies? There should be.
I'm really getting too old for this, too. I've noticed how my body weakens under the stress of trying to get her back to bed. These are the real labor pains. As I rock her, standing by the crib each night, I feel my lower back giving way under this 20 pound limp, dead weight. Then once I get her back to sleep, I try to quietly sneak out. What happens is more like I "crackle" my way out. With every step, literally each joint from toe to hip cracks and pops. There is no quiet exit for me, unfortunately. I may as well line the nursery with bubble wrap and Riverdance my way to the door.
The other night was just such a scenario. After two or three trips back to her room to settle her, I thought I had finally made it through. Not long after I fell back to sleep however, I was awakened to the sound of Maggie barking lightly and scratching on a door. I leaped out of bed ready to attack. No way was she going to wake that kid. I was going to have to kill her. I came to find that the door she was behind was in fact the baby's bedroom door. She had gone into her room and gotten stuck. Little did she know she was moments from the end of her life.
As I opened the door, she shot out followed by the most horrific stench I have ever encountered and living in this household, that is truly saying something. I gagged and then stuck my head into the room to take another whiff. Oddly, I smelled nothing so I assumed the stench was staying with the dog. I followed her to my room sniffing her as she cowered away. Miraculously the baby slept on but Maggie was having serious digestive issues. She chose to relocate at the side of my bed and because there was a thunderstorm going on that night, I was not going to be able to pry her away. She clung to my bedside and hunkered down, leaking gas like a day-old balloon.
I had to cover my head with the sheets so I could breathe and get back to sleep. Probably about an hour later, I heard the baby cry. This time Chris made what resulted in the fateful trip to the baby's room. He opened the door and once again out flew Maggie. She had returned to the scene of the crime and this time she left evidence. Chris immediately experienced the shock and awe of the odor the dog left behind. Then, as I lay in bed, trying to ease back to Sleepytown, I heard "What the hell is going on in here?" Chris was yelling, the baby was screaming and Maggie was nowhere to be found. I jumped out of bed, again, and ran to her room. There I found Chris sitting on the twin bed wiping his foot with baby wipes, and a sloppy pile of dog poo on the floor next to the crib. Apparently, the stench woke her up. I'm surprised it didn't poison her.
I ran to the kitchen to grab paper towels and cleaning supplies and set about cleaning it up while Chris rubbed the first layer of skin off his toes. Then we cuddled Mariella and tried to get her settled down. Maggie, meanwhile, roamed the house with poo hanging off her behind, likely trying to escape her own smell. We all eventually recovered from this hellish night but in general sleepless nights go on and I suffer from long term sleep deprivation to be sure.
It is this kind of sleep deprivation that results in acts of forgetfulness and frequent flashes of insanity. Just the other day, as we rushed out of the house to go to swim lessons, we forgot to close the back door. Maggie of course took full advantage of this opportunity and spent the following hour and a half, roaming the streets like a juvenile delinquent. What actually happened that day, we'll never know. Maggie will take the secrets of her adventure to her grave. All we know is that when she returned, by the grace of God, she was physically intact, covered in grass, mud and mysterious substances and she smelled of week-old road kill. We're pretty sure it was the greatest day of her life.
And Maggie isn't the only one who sets out on adventures due to owner neglect. Mandie had a stroll of her own. We're pretty sure that her leash latch was faulty and she got loose but who knows. I'm lucky to remember to leash my boobs with a bra every day, let alone keep the dogs tethered to the yard. At any rate, after about an hour we realized she was gone and called for her. She came sauntering back, unscathed but we didn't get away with the indiscretion this time. Not too much later, our neighbor came over to be "neighborly."
"That heavy-set dog was walking down the alley a little while ago, you know," he said to my husband as he leaned against the back door. "Just thought you should know. Just being neighborly."
Our neighbor's definition of "neighborly" is different than ours, by the way. To us, it is a synonym for nosy. So far, he has come to tell us that our grass is a few centimeters past the city ordinance for grass height, our bushes are protruding onto the sidewalk (likely a city ordinance against fat shrubs), and the tags on our cars had expired. By the way, there is a city ordinance against expired tags. Imagine that. When he came over to report Mandie's illegal passage down the alley, he inadvertantly woke Mariella from her nap. Unaware of the serious nature of such a crime in our house, he lives to this day not knowing how lucky he is to be spared. Waking the baby, especially after what we go through to get her down, is an extremely dangerous act around here. It surpasses stealing someone's sandwich from their plate when they're not looking. It even surpasses taking a dump on the baby's bedroom floor.
Oh yes, if you wake the Sleepless Beauty you must be aware of the demise which could befall you. With two sleep deprived, unstable, raving mad lunatics with dementia running the house, your safety cannot be guaranteed. Even the dogs can't be sure. You might just find yourself on the wrong side of a door someday and what you do at that point could very well determine your fate. So, if you want to live, don't wake the baby. And if you want to sleep, get a hotel room.
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