You ever have that feeling, that crazy tired feeling – like no matter how much coffee you ingest your eyes are going to melt out of your skull?
My eyes are melting as I type.
But not sleeping will do that to you I suppose.
It all started with Mase. Everything was fine, both of the kids – who had been bouncing off the walls crazy all day yesterday – fell asleep almost immediately after getting in to bed.
And then 9pm rolled around and Mason started screaming. My first thought was nightmare. Until I saw the way he was shifting and moving around to grab at his legs. Growing pains. Crap. I hate growing pains. Because they only seem to bother my kids when the kids stop moving – and the only time the kids stop moving is when they’re asleep. And it’s miserable. Nothing I can give them makes it better, nothing I can do to make it stop. Being helpless is not my strong suit.
I don’t handle it very well.
So Mason is crying out in his sleep, rolling around, trying to get comfortable, and I’m sitting there wishing there was something, anything, I could do to make it better. I rub his back, whisper the sweet little things you say to make a kid feel better, but still he’s miserable. There are five minutes of respite in between each bout – He calms down, falls back to sleep, peaceful. I leave his room and go back to what I was doing – knowing five minutes later it’s going to start up again. This went on until about midnight. The poor little bug just broke my heart.
Then, while I’m sitting in Mason’s bed, hoping this is the last time tonight he goes through such misery, I see movement out of the corner of my eye. I look up, and see Kaleb.
Oh come on, really?
The kid needs a good night of sleep – what he doesn’t need is his subconscious dragging his sleeping body all over creation. Get up and catch him halfway to our room. Grab him by the shoulders and guide him back to bed. Tuck him in, have sweet dreams, double check on Mason, and head toward my own bed.
Before I can even get to the door of our room Kaleb is up again and heading my way dragging his blankie behind him.
*sigh* It’s going to be one of those nights, isn’t it?
Aim him back toward his own bed, tuck him in, have sweet dreams baby boy.
Again. And again. And Again. Every time I start to fall asleep I hear Kaleb’s shuffling feet.
By 4am I’m done. Don’t care – no more of this. You want to sleep in here with mommy that badly? Fine. Get in the bed.
Close my eyes and he starts thrashing and whining.
Oh come on! Really? Nightmares? Now? You’ve been floating around this house like a ghost for four hours, and now the nightmares come?
Oh yes. They do. He starts screaming and lashing out – this is going to be a bad one folks. And it was. Stupid, cruel night terrors. Whatever was going on in his mind had him terrified, and by the time my alarm went off I wasn’t much better. Two hours of holding a screaming, flailing, shaking kid will do that to you. Then he peed. Out and out just peed. And evidently that did more to break him out of it than anything I had been doing. Because the next thing I know he’s awake and clinging to me, and crying hysterically. Then he realizes he’s wet and gets even more upset because he had an accident.
Accidents happen kid, don’t worry about the accident. Are you okay? In your head?
“I’m scared mommy.”
“Scared of what baby?”
“I don’t know. But I’m really scared.”
I spent the next hour trying to coax whatever had him so shaken out of his brain – but that’s all I got. I hate the night terrors. I’ve hated them since he was 10 months old. But they’ve been getting better. They’re significantly less frequent, and when they do come they’re typically easier to break him out of. Not last night.
By the time I got him on the bus he was perfectly fine. And Mason was completely awake.
And now you know why my eyes are melting.
If you’ll excuse me, I have to go hunt down more coffee.