an open letter to my sleep-hating son

Dear Gray,

I love you. A lot. You are cute and funny and serious and quiet and you like to sit back and take it all in. It's quite endearing how from time to time throughout the day, you take it upon yourself to spend some time on the infant side of your classroom. Your teachers say it's because you are so laid-back that every so often, you crave the peace and quiet away from the boisterous other toddlers. You, my dear, are your daddy, through and through.

I love your daddy with all my heart. But there's one thing you've gotten from him that has been hard to tolerate.

Your hatred of sleep.

Buddy, you are smart. You are affectionate. You are everything I hoped for in a little man. Except for a good sleeper. That, my love, you are not.

Two nights ago, we ended up on the couch, sleeping, sitting up, you snuggled on my chest. This was after 2.75 hours of your refusal to sleep. At almost 16 months, you really should be sleeping through the night. And you know what? I know you can, for you did just that last night.

However, it was in Mommy and Daddy's bed. And sweetheart, that can't go on.

You know Elizabeth, who you adore? Well, she recommended a sleep clinic for us. She says the woman there is life-changing. And in thirty-three days, Daddy and I are going there to create a plan.

So, my little bear, you better enjoy the next thirty-two days of sleeplessness. Because I am grumpy and weepy and foggy-brained and headachey and not feeling well and all too reliant on coffee these days. And something's gotta give.

Love you (even at 2 am!)
Momma

At least sleep deprivation-induced antics make good blog fodder

G has been sleeping a little better lately. He doesn't sleep as well as most of you lucky mamas whose blogs I read, but we are up to 5-6 hour stretches at night. I'll take it.

On Tuesday night, he slept about 5 and 1/2 hours. I got up to feed him, and sleepily put him back in his vibrating chair, where he sleeps. (Our boys have a mutual hatred of flat beds...L slept in the same chair for 5 months. Yes, 5.)

And G decided it was time to par-tay.

For almost two hours.

Needless to say, I woke up bleary-eyed and in need of coffee on Wednesday. We rolled out the door, rushed but weary, fifteen minutes late to get L to school. I left the coffee that I had poured into a travel mug sitting on the counter. Sigh.

We hurried in to his classroom, apologizing for our tardiness.

I asked L where his backpack was. He looked in his cubby, shrugged, and started walking away.

Again, I asked L where he put his backpack. He looked in the cubby next to his and then up at me, obviously confused.

Suddenly, a grin crossed his face.

"Mommy," he giggled, "it's on.....

....your back!"

On the bright side, maybe L will get special treatment now that his teachers see him as the poor kid with the cracked-out mom.