This morning at 1am, during my second visit to Baylie’s room and after Peter’s second visit to her room, I found myself thinking the same phrase over and over; Baylie is a sleep terrorist.
When Bay was a newborn and several months after, I knew I wasn’t going to get any sleep. Not that knowing I wasn’t going to sleep at night was any prize, but the alternative was the anticipation of a restful sleep and then having it repeatedly disrupted. While I have the honed skill of not having to be fully awake in order to comfort B and get her back to sleep, lately the process has been a bit more involved, Rocking her, barganing with her and then putting up with a few minutes of screaming (both Baylie and myself) in order to get her to go back to sleep is forcing me to be in a hightented state of awareness. Thus making me very cranky.
As I was trying to guess the reason she couldn’t get back to sleep this morning, I couldn’t help but think that these little acts of wakefulness are indeed acts of terrorism. They are meant to make me feel a little uneasy each night, never really knowing if it’s going to be a dream-filled peaceful night or one where I pull myself out of my cozy bed, stomp across the living room and focus very hard on not falling alseep in the glider and thus dropping the kiddo. Only to put her in her crib and have her spring back up screaming.
And so the Sleep Terrorist wins another battle…