Mom Life

It's 1:15 in the morning. I've been asleep approximately 90 minutes. I've hit the sweet spot where deep sleep is starting to take over, and I'm starting to dream . Then somewhere in the recesses of my mind I hear something. At first I think it might be part of my dream. It's not.

"Mommy . . . Mommy . . . I don't feel good."

I pull myself out of the realm of blissful sleep and deliriously throw off the covers. I glance over at my sleeping husband and then trudge to the bathroom with my seven year old where we proceed to sit on the floor while he "decides" if he's going to be sick or not.

After about 20 minutes of hanging out on the bathroom floor, he says he's feeling a little better. He wants to get back in bed . . . the loft bed not the twin bed. I cannot convince him that the twin bed is a better option, and at almost 2:00 a.m., I don't have the fight in me to carry this argument further. I pray he doesn't puke all over his bed because I don't really want to climb up and down a ladder while cleaning his bed. I lay down on the twin bed in case he needs me. This might possibly be the most uncomfortable bed ever. Just as I start to doze off . . .

"Mommy . . . Mommy . . . my tummy feels nauseated. I think I'm going to throw up."

And up we go. Back to the bathroom. Back to sitting on the floor. Fifteen minutes pass. He's starting to feel better, but now he's worried that if he lays back down he'll feel sick again.

I have a light bulb moment. Didn't the pediatrician say you can give a child Benadryl if they're nauseated? Or maybe it was for motion sickness? Ehhh . . . potato . . . pototo (how the heck do you write that anyway???) . . . and maybe as a bonus it'll help him sleep. Who am I kidding? I hope it knocks him clean out. I'm tired.

He chokes down a Benadryl., "gacks" a few times but doesn't puke it up. That's a good sign. We head back to bed. It's now close to 3:00 a.m. Please Lord, let him sleep. He gets in bed. Thirty minutes go by, and he's definitely out. I roll out of my spot on the awful twin bed and stumble back to my comfy bed. Patrick mumbles, "Is Buddy okay?" I'm not sure if I answer. I'm asleep in less than 30 seconds.

And three hours later, the alarm goes off, and the day begins. I'm dragging, but Andrew? He's bright eyed and raring to go. Seriously kid?!?

These nights can be exhausting. The days that follow are long. But when it comes down to it, I wouldn't trade it for the world . . . or even a good night's sleep.