Sleeplessness bulldozes the funny out

I’ve made it clear we don’t sleep much in my family.  I’ve also made clear my daughter’s funny, cute little quirky habits.  Well, I haven’t written much lately, because some of those habits are not quite as funny and cute and are probably not habits at all.

On January 3rd, we have an appointment at one of the best (maybe THE best) children’s hospitals in the world.  We’re pushing to get a sleep-study for her.  I don’t need to get into the severity of her sleep issues, let’s just say, once again, there isn’t much sleeping going on for her, myself or my husband.

There are other challenges too: frequent, severe tantrums, a speech delay, a few sensory sensitivities together with fierce independence.  AND, she’s two and a half.  So there’s that.  I have done research, we see a family therapist weekly and a speech therapist weekly.  We’re starting occupational therapy soon and with the sleep study, we’re hoping to get a consecutive few hours of sleep each night … someday.

So, my friends, this is why I haven’t written lately.  Things have progressively gotten a bit worse the past few weeks, coupled with us all being sick, so I’ve got myself a recipe for disaster.

There’s nothing funny here … no silly anecdotes to how wine can save all, even it can only do so much.  In my little bubble world this is a lot to handle and I’m anxiously awaiting more professional help from our team of experts.

I hope to have something humorously post-worthy soon … really soon.  Until the funny  strikes, hang in with me while real life happens.

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Some things you should know about my two year old daughter

I love reading lists and I love writing lists.  This one is about my two and a half year old daughter and what I think everyone should know about her now because in one way or another, you will know about her when she’s older.

  1. She might be one of the funniest people I know … and she knows it.
  2. A male pediatrician once said “She’s a bit dramatic” right before I grabbed a thumb depressor and stuck it up his nose.  Unfortunately, he knew exactly what he was talking about.
  3. She poses for every photo in a way that makes me out to be the creepiest and most drill-sergeanty stage mom on the planet.
  4. She likes to have her brother check to see if her diaper is “dirty” by sticking her bum in his face and saying “mell.”
  5. Her speech is delayed and she’s in early intervention.  I’m not sure what it’s delayed from, but I do know that she knows everything.  Way more than I do.
  6. She doesn’t like to sleep … EV-ER (following are some of the ways in which she wakes).
  7. When she is sleeping, she might bolt awake, flailing arms and legs if a feather were to gently glide from the ceiling to the floor and lay gently on the carpet.
  8. She awakes in terror no less than 10 times per night, screaming “MOMMY!”
  9. As soon as her eyes open in the morning, she needs to get out of bed and go                 downstairs.
  10. She talks in her sleep.
  11. She likes to sleep with her face on mine, all – night – long and yep, for naps too.
  12. She is having a sleep-study done ASAP.
  13. She hits and yells and accuses.  She’s ready for a commitment.
  14. She drinks too much … water … only water.  NOTHING else.
  15. When I try to take a picture or video of anyone other than her, she jumps into view, screaming “TAH DAH!” or some such exclamation, standing so close to the camera that anything beyond her is completely out of view.  She’s a genius.
  16. She’s just started saying “I love … ” and when she says “I love Mommy, I love brulla (brother) and I love Daddy” my cold heart melts and all of my fears about what a nightmare she will be as a teenager disappear, for about 17 seconds.

Scared out of my nose

OK, this literally just happened.  Husband is working late.  Two children asleep; five year old in his bed, two year old in my (her) bed.  I hear crying … not sure from which miniature body it’s coming.  I wait … it heightens.  I run up the stairs fast, assuming it’s the two year old and I move with the swiftness of a gazelle (I totally did!), so that I can get to her quickly.  If her crying escalates, big brother will be awake too.  And with one of me and two of them, I am down for the count, or at least an hour.  In mid-stride I hear it’s my daughter, I turn into my doorway and bowl over a human body, a small-ish one.  My son.  Standing just inside the doorway of my room in complete darkness.  He falls, I yell something that at this very holy time of year should not be uttered around children.

At this point, I am so freaked, I think my heart comes out my nose, which isn’t entirely that much different from childbirth, I realize now.  In any case, I also strongly say to my son, “What are you doing?”  His response?  “What are YOU doing?”  Hmmm.

Apparently, he was sleep-walking, or wandering around our three upstairs bedrooms in the dark, looking for Santa?  Another nightmare about the Elf on a Shelf?  Whatever the case my be, I now not only have two little bodies in my bed, neither of which are my own or my husband’s, but this completely proves what I always thought to be true: these two are trying to kill their precious, loving, fragile mother.  Serenity now.

Picking the perfect Christmas tree

With wrecking-ball-like demolition, this year I smashed my typical way of selecting the perfect tree.  In previous years, my husband and children have whined and sometimes thrown wreaths at the time it would take me to pick the tree.  But for some reason, maybe it was the lack of sleep (duh!) or the too-close-to-dinner time trip, or me going out in my pajamas (yes, close to dinner time), this time I selected our tree with the concentration and swiftness of a sharpshooter.

Against all that is in my Christmas-loving, perfect-tree requiring soul, I choose a tree still wrapped in string.  Really!  It looked skinny, all bound like some kind of sharp, green topiary missile.  This year, I decided I wanted skinny.  We’re in a new house for us, but an old home, with small, choppy rooms and nothing tall and fat would do, or fit.

I fell asleep early that night, putting one of the kids to sleep, or passing out into a pile of clothes while trying to fold them and never saw the tree untied.  When I heard my son screech like he’d been scalded with hot coals as he made his way down the stairs in the morning, I knew it was definitely something and not the petite tree I anticipated.

Needless to say, I now have a behemoth, evergreen monster in my living room.  It’s so large, we had to move most of our furniture out of the living room and into the dining room that definitely doesn’t need a recliner, side table and two Pottery Barn kids’ armchairs in it.

Our poor angel will need at least the next eleven months to recover from the back and neck pain she’s enduring at the tippity-top.  Come to think of it, if I hear one peep out of another small person in my house, she’ll have more than a few aches and pains to whine about.