All About That Scaredy Cat

Just another attempting at preserving bathtubs and little hands.

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(Months ago)

Chris books his plane ticket for a trip the boys and I can't make. I make a mental note that Ryan would be sleeping in our bed that weekend. Scaredy cat.

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(Every other night since getting back to a normal life post summer travels)

I'm awaken by little feet and cries thirty minutes or so after whenever I finally fall asleep. Tuck him back in bed.

Two to three hours later, there are those feet again. Fine! Fine!

In our bed he goes.

When I wake up, I groggily lecture him/plead that he needs to stay in his room the next night until the clock turns green.

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(The next night)

Same story, different night.

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(The morning of the day before Chris leaves)

I wake up moderately refreshed, and I realize that there were no footsteps, no cries, no doors opening through the night. Relaxed exhale. Glorious! I roll over to see Ryan peacefully and sneakily slumbering in between Chris and me.

He's gotten really good at this.

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(Bedtime the night Chris is gone)

I ask Ryan if he wants to sleep in our bed. "No. I want ta sleep in my bed."

Yeah, right. He'll come to our bed.

He wakes up at eleven for a drink. I plop him in our bed, and he falls asleep by the time I come back with a glass of water.

That was easy.

I shake my head at how much of a nut I am. A nut!

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(The rest of the night)

One king bed. One five-foot-six mom. One toddler. Two feet of the bed occupied. And that's a generous estimate.

Feet are on my belly. The feet rotate as Ryan shifts to another side what sleepily requesting to go back to his bed. 

Umm, no. Who will protect me? The two year old? Okay no, but still! 

Arm in my face. Ryan stirs and says, "Can I sleep in my bed?" 

"Is this my child?! ... Just go to sleep, Ryan."

At five in the morning, I rescue Conor from his crib and loneliness since I stole Ryan from their room. We nurse.

Now it's one king bed. One mom. One toddler. One baby. Two and a half feet of the bed occupied. And that is still a generous estimate. 

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"Mom! I'm hungwy! Mom! I'm hungry!" 

"Okay. I need to nurse Conor."  

Whisper to Conor, "Conor! Let's nurse! Please." Anything to stay in bed. 

I remember that I left muffins out for this. "Hey, remember those muffins we baked? You can grab one off the counter in the kitchen."

"OOOooooOOOooo," and Ryan's little feet gallop away. 

"Moooo-ooom. You wanna a muffin? Moooo-oooom. Let's read books. Pleeee-eeease"

Baffle at how of all nights, Ryan wanted to sleep in his own bed on the one Chris was gone. Somberly, I realize I definitely got as little sleep as if I had been a big girl and slept by myself.  

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We go into the kitchen. I remember that Melissa recommended a song. Ryan is standing on a chair in a diaper. Conor is standing on the floor in a diaper. I go to the computer to go to my trusty not-record-player, YouTube.

I press play. I like the song. I turn to the kitchen. Baby dancing ... toddler dancing. Okay, I really like the song. 

And the day turns into a good one.