Due to the marvels of Michigan weather, I spent the night at my parents in an impromptu grandchildren visit. Wound up from driving in an icy sloshing winter scape, It took me an hour to settle into the idea of crawling into bed. At midnight, I cuddled up closed my eyes and fell half asleep.
The special senses that come with being a mother, or a light sleeper, woke me up an hour later. As I opened my eyes, I got a close up view of my eldest daughters face. "Mom, I sleep with you?" she queried. I moved over, made room and helped hoist her into bed.
Evidently, her definition of sleep and mine are not the same. Half an hour later, she is still tossing and turning, and putting her cold feet on my legs. I believe this was the time that frazzled tired mom said something about f'ing going to sleep. A moment of peaceful silence followed, and I drifted off with the illusion that cora was asleep.
In the depths of slumber a small voice said "I go see Sammy and Nanny."
Once it filtered through, my eyes popped open to a deserted pile of covers. I leapt out of bed, motiviated by an entirely unrealistic urge to find and duct tape my child in her sleeping bag. At the top of the staircase, I found her cuddling with the dog, and physically relocated her. Just as she was drifting off to sleep, there was a sound from a corner.
The baby was hungery.
I am sure, someone somewhere was sleeping, but it was not me. I was busy trying to comfort a sleepless two year old, and feed a baby.