I’m having one of those kind of mornings that make mothers wonder why they ever had children, or just more than one child. Boy woke me up twice last night. The first time, around 2 AM, he was just whimpering so I let him sleep with my teddy bear (yes, I still have a teddy bear). Then, at 4:30 AM, he woke me up screaming with terror. When I walked in, he was wild with fright and half-naked. Apparently, he’d had a dream that his sleep-pants had turned into monsters and were trying to hurt him. He was insistent that he wasn’t going to wear them again, but would only wear his jeans. Later, when I’d managed to get him calm, since I could see that pressing the subject wasn’t getting me anywhere, I managed to get him to agree to take the jeans off in favor of wearing a pair of cloth underpants. I fed him some cocoa and I put him back to bed. By then, it was a quarter to six. He stayed in bed for all of an hour then got up again at nearly seven; the time I normally get up, if I’m not up at 6. With all that in mind, it should be no surprise that I’m cranky. Still, I know, irritated though I am, that if I continue to be cranky, nobody is going to be happy and nothing is going to get done, least of all kids getting to school on time.
I’m not sure what I’ll do, but I hope I can somehow manage to keep my cool until bed time comes. Maybe I can convince jak to watch our son while I take a nap or something.
Arrrh. My head hurts, now, too.