Must Be Dreaming, Right?

Last night I put the kids down early to bed and they were both out within minutes. I smiled to myself and though, "Hmmm, tonight might actually grant me a good night's rest."

My peaceful dreaming was uninterrupted at 1:15am when a pair of little eyes peered at me in the dark, "Mama? Mama? I'm COLD!" And bleary eyed, I pulled her between Shaun and I and tucked covers all around her. (Her room is by far the coldest in the house at night). She rolled to her side and nestled her back against me. But apparently that wasn't close enough, so she rolled back over and nestled into the crook of my arm.

That lasted for about 11 seconds. Each successive position was deemed unsatisfactory and she thrashed around for what felt like an hour before I sat up and said, "BEAN!" Apparently, she was thrashing in her sleep because she was utterly confused as to why I was shouting her name. Resettled, she actually stayed still for more than 5 minutes. Success.

I drifted off to sleep only to be awakened a mere hour later by Miss C and a cough that signaled the arrival of the dreaded croup. I rushed in her room and picked her up to see if she'd relax enough to stop coughing. No dice. So we trotted into the bathroom and turned the hot water on high. The heat lamp cast a soft red glow through the room and her cough immediately settled with the steam got thick. She was the calmest, cutest croupy baby I'd ever seen. She'd lay her head on my shoulder and coo and when something would catch her attention, she'd pop back up then pat my face and grin. Super sweet.

A quick bottle to hydrate her and she was back to sleep within 45 minutes.

I crawled back under the covers and tried to turn my brain off enough to sleep.

Dozed off.

Back to thrashy-ville.

Then back to croup-land.

And back to thrashy-ville.

On the surface, it was a horrible night of sleep. Actually, it was a horrible night of sleep no matter what way you look at it.

But.

Motherhood is most certainly not all spring and roses. The only thing that keeps me sane after nights like those are realizing that there are those moments within the madness that make it all worth bearing.

Like Bean's sweet scented head nestled under my chin. Or C's hands reaching for me when I walked into the room to get her. Bean telling me, "Mama, you're WARM!" and nuzzling closer. And C's sweet smile every time she would look up to check that I was still looking at her. (She likes the attention... just a smidge).

I can take care of munchkins, no matter when it happens to be. And if I look at it the right way, I can do it with a smile and a feeling of contentment, knowing I'm right where I'm supposed to be.

Besides, all this nighttime care should earn me a killer retirement home sponsored by the kids, right?