Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Who's Been Sleeping in My Bed?


I woke up at 1am last night to the sound of a barking cough coming from my son’s room, followed by hysterical crying and wheezing. My husband took him to the emergency room where he was diagnosed with croup and given a dose of steroids, a stint in cool mist, and a Popsicle. When they finally got home at around 3am, we decided it would be a bad idea to have him sleep in the same room with his sister, plus I wanted to be nearby in case he had further breathing distress, so he slept with me in my bed and my husband slept in the guest room.

Other than one ill-advised all-nighter in college, I got less sleep last night than I have in my entire life up to now.

I am what could generously be called a “restless sleeper,” but I am not even in the same category as my son. First of all, the excitement of being the center of attention at the ER, combined with a Popsicle and the relief of being able to breathe again, had given him a second wind so he wanted to sit up and tell me all about his adventures instead of going to sleep. Once I’d convinced him that his tales could wait until morning, he had a hard time finding a comfortable spot. He started with his head on his pillow, but quickly rearranged to clutch the pillow to his chest, then to hold the pillow over his head, and finally to throw the pillow to the foot of the bed. Then, being sans pillow, he decided to make ME his pillow. He tried resting his head on my shoulder, then crawled over so his head was on my chest, then attempted to drape across my whole upper body, rolled down over my legs, stretched himself out lengthwise over my entire body, and then (with some helpful “nudging” from me) scooted off me and ended up turning upside down with his head at my feet and his feet occasionally kicking me in the face or his knees poking me in the gut.

And then there was the blanket-stealing. Again, my own genetics are likely responsible, as I am an admitted blanket-hog, but my son has upped the ante. Not only did he pull the covers off me, but he did it by cocooning himself into them and rolling, thus pinning them under his own body weight and making it impossible for me to steal them back without spinning him around like a top. (Yes, I was tempted. Lucky for him he was sick, or I might have succumbed to that temptation.)

But the crowning glory was his bed-hogging ways. He’s pretty sneaky about it: it started with spooning against my back, but then one sharp little extremity or another poked me until I scooted over a bit, then he moved over to snuggle against me again, scoot-snuggle, scoot-snuggle, until suddenly I realized that I was clinging to the last 18 inches of mattress while he enjoyed the remaining 4 feet.

Adding insult to injury, of course, was the fact that he woke up at 7:45, happily chattering and full of energy, while I blearily mumbled a few responses and fantasized about a cup of coffee. I don’t know if I can get him to go to bed for a while this afternoon – not that I’m certain he’ll need a nap, but I’m certain that I will – but I do know one thing for sure: whatever bed he goes to sleep in tonight, it will not be the same one that I’m in. This bed’s just not big enough for the two of us.
 

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