I love sleep.
I love sleep so much that I would wear an “I Heart Sleep” shirt around WITHOUT losing a bet. I could compose a sonnet (if I knew how) to sleeping. If I ever hit it big as a Grammy-Winning artist, it would be for my song, “Sleep, You Are My Hero.”
(if I ever hit it big as a fancy director, it will be because of this video:)
On Thursday, Amelia was all, “sleep is bullshit.” And I was all, “um, are we related?” Because sleep is many things, but it’s not bullshit.
Now, part of the allure of sleep is that it eludes me. I can’t sleep like a normal person to save myself. No, I lay up, night after night with stupid commercial jingles and the annoying songs from kids shows running through my head. If I ever meet the person who wrote the “do-do-do Do A Dollop of Daisy,” commercial in person, I will punch them in the taco.
It doesn’t help that my bedroom is haunted.
Well, it’s haunted or the wind whistling through the attic sounds just like a baby screaming. I prefer to go with “it’s haunted” for street cred.
Either way, I’ll wake up because I hear a fake baby crying and run to check on my babies, who are all safely asleep and therefore not screaming.
That doesn’t help my insomnia.
So anyway, back on Thursday, I couldn’t get Amelia to sleep. She was all, “woah, this is pretty awesome to NOT SLEEP,” and I was all, “I love you, shut the fuck up and go to sleep, baby,” because I wanted to go back to the dream I was having where I was eating a castle made of cake. I did not want to get up.
Friday rolled around, and blearily, I went about my day, writing her sleeplessness off to Dave’s faulty genetics.
Friday night, we went through our normal routine: “Can Daddy take you up?”
Amelia, “NOOOOOO! Mommy rock me.”
The girl wouldn’t let Santa Claus, Jesus, or even Hello Kitty (her favorite) rock her. Nope. It’s gotta be Your Aunt Becky.
So I did. And when I put her in bed after rocking her for a couple minutes, instead of rolling over and saying “goodnight,” she screamed the sort of scream that makes me wonder if DCFS is going to bust down my door for child abuse.
I picked her up, rocked her until her eyes rolled back in their sockets, and when I tried to put her down, it was like I tried to submerge her in a vat of bumble bees. (she’s terribly afraid of bumble bees).
It had been an hour and I needed dinner, so I figured, “Okay, AB, time to be all EYE OF THE MOTHERFUCKING TIGER and let her scream for a couple minutes. It won’t kill her.”
No, it didn’t kill her. It nearly killed me, though. I went back up and rocked her. Eventually, she did go to sleep…for a couple of hours. Then she was up.
Rinse, repeat, Saturday AND Sunday.
That makes four fucking nights of not sleeping, which makes hearing Shut Your Whore Mouth on Happy Endings so much less awesome.
I don’t know what’s wrong with her. It could be teething, it could be sleep regression, it could be a cold, it could be nothing.
Or…maybe she’s possessed.
Anyone know an exorcist?