Grandpa Ed and Grandma Connie have done the unthinkable. They took the eldest kids from each of the families to Florida. Only someone bucking for Grandparent of the Year status would undergo such craziness.
So that leaves Diana and me with an only child. His name is Luca. And he’s awesome in every single way except one: He no longer requires sleep.
It used to be after an hour or two of horsing around and me yelling at them, the boys would settle down and be zonked out until the first number says seven. But now, Luca will appear out of thin are at all hours of the night. He’s like a little ghost, silently appearing at the top of our stairs. At the edge of our bed. And, occasionally, sticking his finger in Diana’s nose at 3am to wake her up.
It doesn’t seem to affect him. He isn’t any more angry or jerky than usual.
It, however, affects me in the following ways: it makes me much more angry and jerky than usual. Why? Because I can’t get my wife to make out with me anymore.
Diana’s afraid that a little ghost will appear at our bedside while we are, ahem, otherwise engaged and he’ll see things he can’t unsee. The other night, I was doing my best Don Juan impersonation and Diana kept jerking her head towards our door.
“Did you hear that? Is that Luca?”
“No, baby. That’s just Grover and we already ruined him.”
I almost had her convinced when I saw the little ghost standing at the foot of our bed. He said something about being scared or being alone or something.
I was too busy punching myself in the face through my pillow to hear him.