Blogger and mom Rachel Doyle says she spends most of her waking life parenting her toddler and keeping her pets alive. In this week’s creative nonfiction offering, Rachel shares two funny stories from the sleep-deprived pet-and-baby survival files.
“I WILL sleep tonight!” My overly loud proclamation practically echoes off the bedroom walls. I glare ominously at each of my three bedmates in turn. Several consecutive nights of broken, restless sleep have left me at the end of my emotional rope.
“Sorry,” whispers The Snorer.
“I know you are,” I sigh. I pat his shoulder half-heartedly.
“I no kick,” states The Kicker as she elbows both her father and me in the ribs trying desperately to wriggle down in between us.
The Farter doesn’t speak, but her belly rumbles loudly. A portent of ill winds to blow.
“I no wanna kick,” states The Kicker again. I’d believe her, but she elbowed me in the boob and stole half of my blankets as she said it. She is burrowing frantically in the belief that if she can establish a beachhead in the next five seconds, she’ll be allowed to stay. She wants to stay. She has no desire to spend the night in her own bed. The one where she can kick, thrash, moan and burrow with unimpeded impunity. No, she’d much rather be with us…kicking.
I sigh again — the martyr — and grudgingly grant her an inch or two. She smiles and arranges my share of the blankets over herself. I turn off the light and pretend to relax.
The Snorer starts in, and The Kicker sucks energetically on her thumb. I whisper “I’ll be back soon” to the one who’s awake, and move to stand. Before my feet hit the floor, she has co-opted my pillow. “Is nice for me,” she states without apology.