Testiclese got up in the middle of the night to make a pit stop. Something about the way he walks by my bed, all belly first and hair rumpled … it breaks me down.
On his way back to bed I pulled back the covers and invited him in for a cuddle.
Seriously, snuggling my babies at night is still one of my greatest pleasures.
A couple of years ago I decided to Take Back The Night by trading in the California King on the floor (nice and low incase anyone fell off) for a grown-up Queen-sized bed off the ground. It was to be the No Child Zone. Lonny was 100% on board.
In the beginning the occasional midnight guest fit in okay, but as the boys get bigger, and since I am ALWAYS relegated to middle (which I hate) it has become problematic. I miss the big bed.
Last night I was trapped between Lonny and Testiclese with the tiny dog sleeping between my knees under the covers and the cat on my face. I was trying to make myself as small as possible by sleeping on my side and not touching Lonny at all (lest he complain about crowding) with one arm coyote’d under the kid.
I was very aware that any movement of mine would disturb everyone’s sleep and since everyone is more important than me …
… I got a shitty night’s sleep. I actually gave up around 3am and went into Testy’s bed where the dog was. It wasn’t much better sleeping with him. It’s like having a boulder in the middle of your bed.
As a result I had tormented dreams. In one I was fighting off an attacker in a building. He was Marvel-like, some kind of deranged man/plant hybrid with super-villain powers.
He chased me down hallways where I could never quite run fast enough or get the door closed quickly enough. He threw knives and spears at me and I would just barely get away so he could continue to chase and attack me some more. All night.
I ended up (and I’m not kidding here) feeling like a piece of bacon from my torso down. I say bacon because that’s exactly what I was thinking in my dreams. But I had, and I quote, “The sheer will to keep fighting.”
To prove his strength, the plant villain doused himself in weed killer and invited me to do my best. I clawed ineffectually at his face because it’s hard to get traction when you are nothing but arms and a head attached to slice of flaccid bacon, which I don’t even like that much. Then I got up and switched beds.
Then I dreamt I was rooming with a bunch of people in a house. There was stuff everywhere, in giant piles, and I kept trying to make sense of it all and no one seemed to care or want to help. What do you think it all means?
Who gives a shit?
Time to cut the crap.
I found one of those Groucho Marx disguises. I tried them on and decided it is too ticklish for words.
Should I get rid of this piece of crap? Is it annoying? You be the judge.