Last night was great.
We had put the girl to bed around 6:30, her usual time and she seemed to fall right asleep as per usual. We finished with the boy’s bedtime routine around 8 pm, also as per usual. A bit later Eric went to bed earlier than usual because he was really tired.
Shortly after that, the boy yelled downstairs “Can I sleep in your bed?” “Fine,” I yelled back. He crawls into bed with Eric.
Then the girl wakes up screaming, so I go comfort her and then go back downstairs.
I hear intermittent grumbling from our bedroom as the boy is probably kicking Eric in his sleep.
Then I hear the boy start to scream, and hear Eric call my name. I run upstairs and find the boy shuddering in fear and crying, almost inconsolable. “What happened? Did you have a bad dream?” The boy nods. “Can you tell me about it?” The boy shakes his head and starts shuddering anew. “Was it that scary?” “Yes.” “Were you in it?” “No.” “Was I in it?” “Yes.” “Was anyone else in your dream?” “No. Just you.” “Can you tell me what I was doing?” He starts to shudder again and shakes his head, “No.” He calms down and then I put him back to bed and go downstairs.
The girl wakes up screaming AGAIN, and I give up on the evening, pick her up out of the crib and go to lie down with her in the boy’s bed, thinking at least this way we’ll all get some sleep.
Then, Eric enters the room carrying the boy, who had been snoring and kicking him, hoping to put him to bed in his own room. Finding us sleeping there, he says, “What the hell is going on here?” and walks out, deposits the boy back into our bed and heads downstairs to sleep in the basement.
At this point, the girl and I are in a twin mattress on the ground, the boy is alone in our king size bed, and Eric is in the basement on the couch.
Now I realize that I’m cold and need another blanket, which is, of course, in the basement.
I sneak out of bed and head downstairs trying to be as quiet as possible, sounding for all the world like a prowler, and scare the living daylights out of Eric who’s asleep downstairs. I’m thankful he doesn’t sleep with a gun under his pillow.
I grab a blanket and head upstairs, and try to get comfortable. The girl is farting and crawling on my face in her sleep.
I take the girl and bring her into my bed where the boy is, where she continues to crawl on my face and generally squirm around.
A few hours later, the boy sits bolt upright in bed and exclaims, “I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!” “Take what?” I ask. “Sleeping in this bed with the girl!” “So go sleep in your own bed, kiddo.” He takes off and goes to sleep in his bed.
Then HE starts crying saying his tummy hurts. I go into his room, rub his belly. “Maybe it’ll help if you try to poop,” I offer. “Okay,” he says. Sleepily, we walk to the bathroom where he does his business, says he feels better, and then heads back to bed. I think it’s around midnight at this point.
The girl continues to fart and roll onto my face all night long.
So not only did I not get a wink of sleep, but apparently I’m so terrifying I give my own son nightmares that are too scary to talk about. Parenting FAIL.