Elijah’s virus has brought me back to the days of yesteryear when he couldn’t sleep more than two hours at a stretch. The poor little guy is miserable. And his misery results in no sleep for anyone. His cries are bad enough. But now he knows the word “Up.” So he spent the majority of the night crying, screaming and shouting, “Up! Up!” Which actually sounds more like a seal’s bark. Not conducive to counting sheep.
Diana and I took turns rocking him back to sleep. And by “took turns” I mean “Diana rocked him to sleep 10 times and I rocked him to sleep 0.5 times.”
‘Round about 3 in the morning I heard the seal barking and went into his room. He was burning hot and sick as a dog. So I rocked him in the rocking chair for a few minutes. Then I got a brilliant idea. Why not take him into bed with me and kill two sleep birds with one stone?
So I gently put him into bed and he instantly went to sleep. As I attempted to slip in beside him, I realized that Eli is definitely Diana’s son. He’s inherited her bed-hog-ness. He spread out to almost three times his normal size. Grover, always the opportunist, leapt onto the bed and filled in the rest of the space.
I was left with a tiny sliver of mattress. No covers. No pillow. I had three choices: 1) Make do. 2) Start drinking heavily. 3) Leap from our window.
I chose #1. But I am paying for it today. Luckily, I have a 7pm meeting that is billed as a classic college “all nighter.”
On a positive note, Eli felt good enough to watch Sesame Street this morning. But not until after barfing all over Diana.
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