It's an usual time of night for me to writing... it's 12:45 a.m. I should be asleep. Tucked nicely under my covers, dreaming about chicken wings, band camp, or some other hormone-induced nonsense. Instead, it's quarter to freaking one and I'm on my living room couch, typing away and feeling slightly sorry for myself. So what, you may ask, is keeping me awake so freaking late? Well, let's explore that, shall we?
First of all, if you haven't read my ode to useless sleeping husbands, please by all means read it here. I have many of the same complaints tonight. Except worse.
It's Friday night. That means the end of a full week of 5:40 a.m. mornings, full-time working, 500+ kms driven, meal-making, hormone-dealing, and loving, patient mothering. It means I'm oh, so tired and probably ready for bed very early in the evening!
I'm extra-tired tonight because last night, my husband lovingly agreed to switch sides with me in bed so that my aching ribs and hip could get a much needed break. Except that he forgot he lovingly made that deal with me mere moments after he fell asleep and spent the entire night pushing his way back onto his side, and into my personal sleeping space, and refusing to budge an inch, despite my many elbows to his head and back. At 1:19 a.m., Ella awoke screaming (nightmare, I assume), and I had to rush downstairs to sing her back to sleep. When I returned to our bed, my lovely husband had taken up residence smack-dab in the middle of the mattress, head between the two sets of pillows, and arms and legs spread star-fish-style. He looked so freaking comfortable. The only problem is that he left little room for little old me, and I ended up curled up on one side on the very extreme edge of our bed. I didn't even have room to wedge a pillow under my baby bump, because every time I tried, it ended up on the floor. To make sleeping even easier, my lovely husband has decided to take up snoring. Loudly. Freight-train loudly. He also sleeps soundly, so no amount of nudging, groaning, huffing or puffing, rolling over, or elbows to the brain seem to wake him.
Back to tonight... I went to bed around 9:00 p.m., extra-tired from the lack of sleep the night before and the fact that it's a Friday. Danny watched one show on the TV in our room and then went downstairs to do whatever it is that he does once I'm asleep. I was sleeping quite well, enjoying a nice couple of dreams, when Danny came back to bed. He watched another show, and at midnight turned off the tv and promptly fell asleep. That's when I heard the first boom, and realized it was thundering out. The dog heard it too. Danny did not hear it. Any guesses why? That's right... those freaking earplugs! You know what else he didn't hear? The snoring... coming from his ugly gob. He also didn't hear the dog, pacing, whining, panting, and crying at the thunder and lightning.
I laid there, listening to all of this and looked over at my darling, sleeping, snoring husband. As much as I love that man, a thought entered my head. "I want to punch you in the fucking throat." I thought that might stop the snoring. The thunder clapped again, the dog tried to crawl out the window, and Danny snored on. I had visions of ripping the ear plugs out of his ears and shoving them down his throat. I decided that with two near-murderous thoughts in less than 5 minutes, it was probably safer for everybody if I got out of bed.
So here I sit, on our living room couch at 1:15 a.m. The thunder and lightning has pretty much stopped, although the dog doesn't believe me. The girls haven't budged an inch since 7:00 p.m., and Danny, I can hear from all the way out here, is still snoring away in dreamland. I think I'll make a cup of tea and calm my inner murderer before I venture back to bed. As much as smothering Danny with a pillow sounds so very good to me at this moment, it would make the rest of my life more difficult. Three kids are much easier to handle with two sets of hands. Maybe that'll be my mantra for extra-difficult nights like these... "don't kill him just yet, you need him to change the diapers."
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