Awwww… Is there anything so heartwarming as hearing little tiny feet pad across the bedroom floor and having a tiny little tousle-headed girl ask to get in bed with Mama and Daddy because the monsters made her have a bad dream? The only thing I can think of which matches the coziness of sleeping with Little Girl Munchkin would be if I were sewn in a sack full of copperheads and mousetraps, hung from a post and beaten with sledgehammers.

“Gee, sweetheart, I think you will be just fine. The monsters were just big friendly helpers and they were trying to help you sleep.”

Head shake “no.”

“Well, would you like to try to go back in your room?”

Head shake “no.”

“Sweetie, Mama and Daddy REALLY need to get some sleep—would you like Daddy to come in there and watch you while you go back to sleep?”

Head shake “no.” “Theys was BIG mossters.”

“Could I get you to go to sleep on our bed then let me put you in your bed when you go back to sleep? Please?”

Head shake “no.” Little whimper.

::sigh:: “Well come on then.”

Luckily, Reba was between us. Little Girl tends to have very active legs, and I have had several sets of family jewels ruined by her wild nocturnal kicks. Unluckily, whenever she gets in bed, the spacial requirements suddenly become inverted. One would think that Daddy, being the widest, would get proportionally more mattress, but Prissy Butt sprawls out over ¾ of the bed, leaving her loving and very tired parents to scrabble for the remaining quarter. Of course, being a gentleman, this means I try to content myself with a foot-wide edge, to which I must grab onto with my butt cheeks and cling dearly so as not to roll off in the floor and wake everyone up.

Flinch and wake up about to fall off side--“Reba, can you sleep on your side?” ::groggily:: “mblslmbls…you have your backpack with you…” “Reba, can you move on your side?” ::still groggy:: “…get in the car…I AM sleeping on my side!” I send out Mr. Hand to explore the situation—hmmm…what are these two things here pointed at the ceiling? Either someone just thinks she is on her side, or she has been repainted by Picasso. Oh, well. I console myself that I don’t have to put up with Little Miss Jackie Chan’s crotch kicks.

Sometime around 3 a.m., Reba got tired of being pummeled and drooled on and got up and did laundry. She was not a happy camper this morning. Catherine, on the other hand, woke up chipper and in a mood to talk ALL about her dream, which involved nurses and the soccer field and monsters and cats and breakfast and fire.

At least she didn’t wet the bed.
posted by Terry at 8:44:00 AM