I’m tired. Sleeping with an octopus for three nights will do that to a girl.
Not sleeping with an actual octopus–it’s just a little code between Hubs and me. The mafia has "sleeping with the fishes," and the Dryers have "sleeping with an octopus." It means that one of children–usually the youngest–has wanted a sleep partner. And the way our kids sleep, that means that it’s not that unlikely to find an elbow in your eye or finger up your nose or foot in your groin at 3 am.
You know, like sleeping with an octopus.
Corrie has been the child in need of sleeping help lately. There was the whole Sinister Flush of Death incident (which really rattled her), followed by a couple of days of spotty thunderstorms, all of which sprung up while she was sleeping. So she awakened to the sounds of water banging into her window and would screech in horror, "CARWASH!" (Carwashes are second only to automatic flushes on Corrie’s Scale of Horrible Things.)
Now the child is evidently convinced (with the logic only a two year old can supply) that whenever she sleeps, we hitch our house to a large truck and haul it through the automatic car wash. She will NOT sleep. She will sit in her bed and alternately cry and point at the window, convinced the "car wash" must be coming soon.
As irrational as it is, the poor child is terrified, and she will only rest when I’m next to her. And by "next to her" I mean "sleeping with at least two parts of her body wrapped around two parts of mine." Last night she fell asleep with her leg around my waist, her arm around my neck, and our foreheads touching. Because her face is much smaller than mine, that means she was exhaling up my nose every time she breathed.
But you know what? I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Nights like the last few are hard, but there’s a real and simple joy in knowing I can solve her problems so easily. The moment I crawl in her bed and that chubby little body grabs on to mine, her fear is instantly gone. Problem solved.
These are good days.
This post was originally published on June 5, 2007.