It’s 8 o’clock at night. Bridget has been in her bed for an hour. A blessed hour. This is one kid who enjoys her sleep. Usually at 6:30 pm she starts asking for her pajamas and bed. I put her off until 7 pm knowing she will be up at the butt crack of dawn or 7 am as the locals call it. That rain, shine or Apocalypse this child has an internal clock more accurate than my alarm clock.
Abby on the other hand…does not understand the joy I receive when my kids go to bed. It starts with the standard delay tactics: bathroom routines followed by one more kiss. Habitually sending her back in to actually brush her teeth after that goodnight kiss proved she may not have used toothpaste despite her best protest. When she actually goes to bed there is at least three times before 9pm that she “has to use the bathroom” or she has to tell me “something that is important”.
I think it is safe. I pour my wine and begin to read my book. But wait, there she is. Again. Telling me “I can’t sleep”. Why? why can she not sleep. I love to sleep. I enjoy my bed. I look forward to the time when I can just sleep.
Finally, she is asleep. David is working. The kids are in bed and I make my way to that wonderful place called sleep.
Me: (drool running down my cheek) What?
Abby: I can’t sleep
What the freaking hell?
She crawls into bed with me. Apparently I am a sedative. She is asleep within in moments. Her knee in my back. Her arm over my throat in a choke hold. Her stuffed animal between us.
When the kids go to bed I hope they stay there. At least twice a week it may happen.
This is how I finished the sentence, “When the kids go to bed…..”