We're babysitting Liz and Curtis's puppy this weekend, and Liz assured me he would sleep through the night, and that he wouldn't keep any of us up. She failed to ask us though, if we were going to keep their poor dog up all night. Barnabas is used to it. At 2am I was stalking through the kitchen, slamming cupboards, and muttering under my breath about the injustice of the universe, Nelson staggered sleepily to his feet and gave me those big baby eyes that said "What in the world is going on in this crazy house? Didn't you wake me up just 30 min ago?" Yes, Nelson, as a matter of fact I did. Barnabas gave Nelson a patient, wise old look and explained, "Son, this family does this all the time. You have no idea."
I don't know exactly what happened, but Jamie has gone from sleeping ok-ish, to not sleeping at all. He's never been one for sleep. Not in the NICU, not as an infant, not as a toddler. We often joke that if we'd had Robbie first, we'd probably have at least six kids by now. That's how little Jamie slept (and how normal we thought it was). The last few nights we've been putting him to bed at eight (his usual bedtime), but he's not been going to sleep until one or two in the morning. That's right, five to six hours of him freaking out: There's not enough light, he's scared, where's Barnabas, where's mom and dad, the music is too soft, can he sleep on the couch, is it morning yet, he saw a monster, he heard a noise, how many bad guys are outside his window....so.freaking.frustrating.
It wouldn't be so bad if he slept in and compensated for his midnight ravings. But he doesn't. He's up and bouncing off the walls at five-thirty the next morning. Unbelievable. How does he do it? The less sleep he gets, the more wired he gets and the more zombified I get. Something has got to give. I just finished my third night up all night, and if he doesn't sleep soon, I'm taking him to the doctor. That's right... the evil pediatrician. That's how desperate I am.
Jim and I both read him the riot act at various times last night. Jim told him sternly. "You will NOT wake up your mother again, if you can't sleep then lay there and pray." Of course Jim went straight back to sleep, while I lay there listening to the hysterical prayers of a exhausted seven year old, wafting down the hallway. "Dear Lord in Heaven, Please keep the werewolves away, and the coyotes, and the bad guys, and pleeeeaassse help me sleep. Amen. Pleease help me sleep. Amen. GOD! I CAN"T SLEEP. I CAN"T SLEEP. Can you hear me? I caaaaannnnn't sleeeeeeep!!!". Then he started quoting scripture, except that he kept mixing it up with his school work, so it sounded something like "Blessed are the peacemakers...Zaire River, Zambezi River...For God so loved the world....Olmecs, Mayans and the Aztecs.
I'd like to see anyone try to sleep through that. It was impossible for me. And Barnabas. And Nelson. And Robbie. My confused baby was up half the night too, because hey, if his older brother is up and perky...then he should be too. Right?
Ugh. I'm off to get more coffee.
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