There..That's Better

My two year old sleeps through the night but the odd time when he wakes up, my demon “Asyla” starts growling from the very depths of my soul and will occasionally surface.

My son usually wakes me with a sudden, “mama” that jars me instantly awake from my slumber.   I roll out of bed and wave my arms frantically in the darkness trying to feel my way out of the bedroom because my contacts are out and I am blind as a bat.  I step on Thomas the Train and it not only rips my foot open sending chards of pain up my leg but it whistles mockingly at me. Asyla retaliates by kicking the toy across the room but it only whistles more and like a Chucky Doll asks if I want to play.  I have to flip on a light because I am now slightly freaked out.  Asyla makes sure to leave the bedroom door open so my husband is aware she is awake.  I make my way into my son’s bedroom and he usually needs nothing.  He is just awake and he too wants to play which is not conducive to my sleeping schedule and Asyla’s peace of mind.  I desperately plead with him to go back to sleep often informing him that I have to work in the morning, hoping he understands. He doesn’t but he does use the opportunity to recite his list of demands and at this point I am so tired I comply.  It begins with “babba”; I make my way to the kitchen and heat up a bottle in the microwave, peaking into the bedroom only to see my husband has not stirred. Asyla vindictively makes sure to slam the microwave door shut and turn on a few more lights.  I hand my son the bottle and whisper goodnight but just as I am closing the door every so softly the second demand is made;” blue din”. Din is code for blanket which is one of the only words he chooses not say correctly so din it is.  I go back into his room, grab his blanket, and hand it to him bidding him goodnight; “yellow din”; I let out a long sigh and count to ten as I remind him his yellow din is in the crib with him. I tell him that I am going to bed and wish him good night once more; “ piggy”. By this point his bedroom lamp has been turned on and I begin searching for his pink pig that has mysteriously chosen to disappear.  I begin offering other choices but “Elmo”, “Fuzzy Lion”, nor will “Kitty” do.  After an hour has ticked by and I have located his pink pig, put three “dins” in with him, and we have had a one last look outside to make sure the moon was still there, he is finally satisfied. I head back to bed trying to talk Asyla down telling her to ‘take a deep breath and not to flop into bed dramatically ripping the covers off of your husband who is snuggled up so peacefully in his sleeping coma.  That is not fair, it is not his fault.’  Asyla does it any way because it somehow makes her feel a little better before retreating back to where she came from.  I lay they a bag of nerves for awhile before dosing off for the rest of the night.