Sleep is Highly Overrated

Saturday morning came at last. As has been her somewhat frustrating habit for the past month, McKenzie woke up crying in the wee hours of the morning, begging to sleep in Daddy's bed. At 2:30 am, it's so much easier to take her to bed with us than wake-up enough up to put her back to sleep. It's laziness seasoned with self-preservation, I suppose. 

From 2:30 on, I slept on 4 inches of the bed, trying to make sure that she had enough room to spread out without kicking daddy in the back; also somewhat of a habit. As it was Saturday, we hadn't set an alarm and I was looking forward with delight to sleeping 'til 7. 

She was sound asleep at 5:55. Wanting to spend my last hour of sleep in peace, I decided to put her back in her bed. Slowly I picked her up. It was still dark outside, but the pale light of pre-dawn made the baseboards glow with a soft light. I laid her down gently, drooling over the thought of my nice, soft bed. I could almost feel my head hit the pillow. I just had to walk back through the bathroom and crawl into bed. And then it happened. 

"Ma-a-a-mm-aaa!" she wailed. 

"Shhhh....go back to sleep." 

It was to no avail. She had already seen her toys, decided she was thirsty and wanted her "Dora cup," and was talking non-stop. So much for another hour of sleep. Better go turn on the coffee. 

Closing the doors so at least daddy could sleep, we went to get the paper, start the coffee, and hopefully find some cartoons worth watching on Noggin or the Disney Channel. I got McKenzie a cupful of cereal with dried blueberries and settled her on the couch with her dolly. For about 5 minutes we sat in stillness, starring blankly at the television before she started to squirm. In the squirming she knocked over her cereal, spilling blueberries and crumbs everywhere. 

7 o'clock finally came and the rest of the house started to wake-up. After breakfast, Josh and I went for a run and left McKenzie to "help" Grandma do yard work. The fresh, edgy morning air and the warm sunshine felt delicious. Three and half miles later, we got home to find Little Miss Perrault busy traipsing after Grandma in the back yard, sucking her thumb (a sure sign of sleepiness).

Without much fuss, I dusted her off, washed her dirty little face, put her in her crib and turned on Mary Poppins. She was quiet and nearly asleep by the time I walked out. With relish, I was looking forward to a post-running cup of coffee and a few moments to read my Bible. After I poured the coffee, sped-read a decorating article in the paper, and made Josh some chocolate milk (the best replenishing drink, according to his trainer), I went back to make sure the baby had fallen asleep. 

She had not. Not only was she not asleep, she was not in her crib. She was standing on the floor, sucking her thumb. I couldn't believe it. I never even heard a peep, or a thud, or a yelp. She was just hanging out like nothing had happened. 

"How did you get out of your bed," I asked her. 

"Hmmmm." she grunted. Her normal reply when she chooses not to understand the question. 

So out we went to lay down on the couch and watch football with daddy. She snuggled up in my arms and sucked her thumb, stroking my cheek. 

As for my dreams of quiet, they had fled. C'est la vie. You only live once. Babies are only little once. And they only like to cuddle with you for a little while. Anyway, sleep is highly overrated.