It's just a simple fact. We're not "family bed" people. Never have been, never want to be. We have some friends who subscribe to the theory that "families who sleep together produce smarter, more well-adjusted children". As a result, the four of them share one VERY cozy bed. And, yep, their girls are smart. Wicked smart, in fact, AND well-adjusted.
Frankly, we're okay with dumb, slightly insecure children, as long as we get some peaceful snoozing time. The way we figure it, the equation for a happy family is this: children in their room, tucked snugly in their beds + adults in their bed (preferably in a room on the other side of the house) = blissfully happy nighttime zzzzzzz's.
I'm sad to report this equation has not been employed in our home this week. And (pardon me while I shudder violently), I feel like due to our bedtime choices, we've come dangerously close to forever disturbing life as we know it.
Here's the deal. Sophie caught a virus, thanks most likely to a trip to the indoor mall playground last Friday that involved a slide-licking incident. And, let me tell you, this virus, it's been a doozie. Snot, a red throat with lovely pus splotches on it, aches, chills, fitful sleep, headaches, gastric cramping, and, yes, super-fun rocket vomiting. Basically a nice hodge-podge of every possible symptom a sick person can get. What happened, the way I figure it, is as her tongue glided ever so smoothly down the playground slide, she picked up the Variety Pack 'o Viruses and morphed them together into one crazy bug: the dreaded Slidelickeritis. The not-as-known ugly cousin of malaria.
This virus has also come with such the pleasant attitude - crying, griping, complaining, lots of I-can't-dooooo-it moaning, stop-looking-at-me whining, and general mean looks. Hey, I'm not saying I'd be Miss Perky Personality if I felt like poor Sophs has felt the past couple of days. (Which I probably will in a few days since she INSISTS on saying, "Hey, Mama..." and then coughing directly in my face.)
I'm just saying, would it be too much to ask to give the person who has wiped your snot, made the meals you refuse to eat, rubbed your back with soothing lotion, laid cold compresses on your forehead, read you story after story after story, adjusted your blanket according to which phase of hot-cold-hot-cold mania you were in at that particular moment, and generally been at your bell-ringing Beckon Call, a break? Would it be too much to throw that person a bone? Heck, maybe not even a bone. Maybe just the teeniest of dog treats. Sit, Mama, sit. Good, servant. Woof!
By far the worst part of this virus has been the fever that has accompanied all the other nifty symptoms. The fever has been insane. One second she'll be pale as a sheet. The next second I'll look over and she'll be red as a beet, shivering like she's sitting naked on an iceberg in the Arctic. Because of that, I talked Russ into letting Sophie sleep in our bed Sunday night (so NOT like me). And not just that, I talked him into retiring comfortably to the guest room, while I sat up bunking fun with our ever-wiggly four year old. The same "something" that told me I was insane also told me it was the right thing to do.
And, for the most part, I've felt good about my decision.
Sometimes it seems God has a way of tapping you on the shoulder and steering you down the best path, even if you're fighting that path tooth-and-nail. Sophie spiked a 104 degree temperature that first night and continued to sleep right through it. I never would have known she was blazing hot, had I not been not-sleeping right beside her. As it was, I was immediately able to hear her panting and see in the dim light of the room that she was fire-engine red. It took a back-to-back dose of Tylenol and Motrin and lots of compresses and cool Aloe skin rubs to bring her fever down to a manageable degree. But God protected her and we avoided the oh so fun middle-of-the-night-speeding-to-the-ER trip.
The part of me that hasn't felt as good about my decision is the more-than-slightly loopy part that has had a combined total of about six hours of sleep over the past three days. Thanks, in large part, to my little sugary-sweet treat of a bed buddy.
As it turns out, Asleep Sophie is pretty much exactly like Awake Sophie. Asleep Sophie talks, and wiggles, and jumps, and yells. She snorts and moos and makes other weird noises. She flails and laughs loudly. She, fully asleep, carries on whole conversations with herself - BOTH SIDES of the conversation, mind you. She even runs in place. I fear for her future husband. The poor man is going to need to retire to bed equipped with noise-cancelling earplugs and full body armour. I about jumped out of my skin last night when out of a deep sleep she suddenly yelled, "MACARONI!" at the top of her lungs and punched the air in front of her.
It was pretty entertaining. Or it would've been on a few more hours of sleep. ...Or maybe if she was slumbering, instead, with her father and I was just hearing the stories over breakfast in the morning. Then it would be hilarious.
I'm a horribly light sleeper, always have been. If the air in the room moves, I'm snapped-to at full alert. So, you can imagine comments like: "Ooo, quick, mama! Look at this mole on my finger!" and "STOP POKING ME!!!!" and "You're going to get in biiiiiig trouble, " said in a sing-songy voice between gales of laughter, just are not something I can sleep through. Nor is getting whacked square in the nose or kicked in the kidney without so much as a twitch's warning.
I considered sleeping with the video camera around my neck last night, to capture her antics. I mean, at that point, what would one teeny camera add to the distractions. But in my sleep-deprived fog, I couldn't locate it. I may still try to film her sometime. I did that to Russ once. He wasn't amused. But I don't think Sophs would object. At least not 'til she's in middle school and the footage ends up on YouTube.
Adopted-schmadopted. I'm pretty sure our daughter inherited her daddy's gift for sleep talking. ...Which, yes, if you did the math, makes me the only sane one in the family. Heh, heh.