It was Miss Orange and Miss White with a Calendar in the Babies' Room
I think my children are trying to kill me. When they get in their cribs at night, and we finish up a ridiculously long bedtime routine, I think they get out a calendar and start conspiring. "When should we get sick?" one asks the other. "Well, Daddy will be out of town next week. That seems like a good time." The other then thinks about it. "Yeah, the next holiday weekend isn't for a while... I suppose we should get scary high fevers the minute he leaves and then pull something big the Sunday of Memorial Day Weekend like we did last year." The other one nods. "I agree. The Emergency Room is so much more drama than the regular old doctor's office. Plus maybe someone who looks like George Clooney will be there."
WHAT THE F@#$???? Tragedies only occur around here when my husband is out of town (water pouring into my home displacing us for months anyone?) or it's a holiday weekend and our pediatrician is closed. And by "tragedy" I mean I am forced to be up all night. If you knew me in the real world you would know this is indeed a tragedy. People, I LOVE SLEEP.
So rocking a toddler last night from 2:00 am to 6:30 am was not my idea of fun. She had a fever and was not remotely tired. She wanted to chat. "Saw butterflies. Went down bumpy slide. Barney is purple. I like ice cream."
Umm, fantastic. Now go to sleep. "Don't like medicine. Want cherry lollipop. Watch Caillou!"
Right. Shoot me.
Still, as I sat there and rocked her, it occurred to me (like at hour three when I started feeling philosophically delirious) that that's sort of what motherhood is. Being there when they can't sleep but you're dying to. Singing "Jingle Bell Rock" 75 times in a row even though the holiday season has passed and you try to explain this but they don't get it so you are forced to belt out Christmas tunes well into January.
It's not always fun. It's probably not SUPPOSED TO BE always fun. And even though in the middle of the night as I prayed for sleep* and it didn't seem like a good time, I look back on it today and see that it sort of was. Getting to snuggle with her for hours while she rambled every thought she had in her little head. After all, I've had worse Friday nights. They usually consisted of a guy asking me if I planned to pay for half the dinner tab. And if he said things like "Butterflies pretty," it would have been a conversational upgrade.
That said, they better not pull that crap tonight. I need sleep. And to plan a girls weekend for Memorial Day so I'm out of town. I'm pretty sure my kids are scheduling something unpleasant.
*God's answering service must wonder why I only pray about sleep. ("Please God, let them nap today. If they nap today I will (fill in the blank with something I have no intention of doing.)" Just once I might confuse them and pray for world peace. Or maybe a new toaster.
PS-- Yes, the one twin is still orange. What can I say? The girl loves herself some carrots.