I want to post something. I really do, but I'm still getting over this weekend. The child woke up at four in the morning one day and three the next. And it's not like she wakes up to use the bathroom or something. She's the rooster from hell. She's Satan's Rock-a-Doodle.
I haven't seen it myself, but I hear that there's a brochure that advertises children to the (naive) childless. I've heard that there's a section in there that talks about them waking up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom or because they saw a monster in the closet or something. My daughter has the bladder of a 30 year old man, and actually prefers that the lights be turned off when she goes to bed. She's not afraid of things that go bump in the night. She IS the one who bumps!
I'd do a praise lap around the living room if she woke me up just so that she could use the bathroom. Instead, she wakes me up to Rock-a-Doodle...for Satan. I have no idea how she slips into my bed without me noticing, but almost every morning I wake up in what seems like a twisted version of The Little Mermaid. (Yes, I now speak in Disney references. It's been a long week.) The prince gets knocked out and when he wakes up the mermaid is standing over him staring down at him singing. At least, that's what I remember happening.
I wake up groggy and confused, and I open my eyes to see these two giant globes staring back at me. A small soft hand is stroking my cheek, and just as I'm about to smile my senses kick in. My vision kicks in, which helps me realize that it's still dark outside. That makes me groggy, because I know what's about to happen as soon as my hearing fully awakens. I hear some random, not-for-early-morning song like "Mama Said Knock You Out."
Sometimes she has a prop with her. This weekend it was a microphone. I came to while she was saying, "I'm gonna knock you out" and then putting the mic on my face, then going back to "Mama said knock you out," then putting the mic on my face again. What she wanted was for me to do the grunt. "Umph! I'm gonna knock you out. Umph! Mama said knock you ouuuut!" Oh yeah, she wasn't stroking my cheek either. She was smacking me in the face with the microphone.
What do you say to that at three in the morning? Nothing that can be repeated here without provoking the ire of parenting groups and Child Protective Services. When she realized that I wasn't going to sing, she started making demands: "grits, eggs, sausage..." 3:22 in the morning and I'm cooking breakfast like we're on a farm. When it's all finally done she asks for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Like I said before, one day someone will write a song about me long after I'm gone. I hope they blast it in her room at 3 in the morning.
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