I haven’t slept well the past two nights. Getting to sleep is fine (once I actually crawl into bed), but I’ve been rather rudely awakened.
Sunday morning, my cell phone rang at around 4:15. It was an unlisted number, and, since I didn’t get to the phone in time to actually answer it, I have no idea who called. This would only be a nuisance, except that Sunday would have been my parents’ 40th wedding anniversary and marked one year since I last spoke with my mother. So, as you might imagine, the memory of how I learned of her passing, already weighing heavy on my mind, was far too vivid. And I broke down and wept. Just as I fell back to sleep almost an hour later, though, The Boy awoke, and sleep was only a fleeting notion after that.
This morning, The Boy awoke just after 3. I went into his room, gave him Tylenol for his teething, offered some water, and watched him pop his pacifier back into his mouth, thinking that he would simply lie down and go back to sleep. Alas, he tried instead to vault himself out of his crib and insisted on my carrying him out of his room and into our bedroom when that proved futile. Around 4, he finally fell back to sleep, but he awoke again when my husband got up to take a shower. I insisted that he put his head down and rest with me for a little longer, which he did, until he decided he was done with that and slapped me several times before head-butting me.
I now have a beautiful fat lip, courtesy of The Boy.
I certainly hope tomorrow morning will bring a better start to the day.