I love my bed. Every night I pull back the covers, stack my pillows just so for the optimum comfort and then sink deep into my bed. “Ahhh.” Sometimes it’s, “Ohhhh. Nice.” And for those nights when fatigue has come upon me and words fail, it’s more of a “Ahnnnnzzzzz.”

For as much as I love my bed, I spent precious little time there last night. Sometime after the “Ahhh,” and my arrival at sleepytown, the girl called out a terse, “Mama!” I bounded out my bed to find her wandering in circles in her room.

“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she says still walking in circles.
“Do you need to go potty?”
“Did you have bad dream?’
“No.” Still walking. Sleep walking.

I try to direct her back to bed. She was able to skirt my gentle guiding and then duck the more direct marshalling. What finally worked was a shepherding approach where I led her to her bed and crawled in myself. As soon as I pulled back the covers and lied down – no “Ahhh” in her bed – she snuggled in close. And then, for the next two hours, where there should have been blissful rest, there was much disturbance from the 4-year-old spanking and kicking machine. Kick. Roll. Squirm. Whack. Poke. Push. Wiggle. Punch.

A very short while after receiving a forceful stomach kick and sharp chest jab, I returned to my bed. I slid under my covers and sank into the “Ahhh.” And then nothing. Nothing but the sound of the frigid Nor'easter rain on the window. Nothing but the dog snoring. Nothing but B talking in his sleep, interrupted only with the occassional wall kick coming from the girl's room. And nothing but me, wide awake, eyes like saucers, watching the seconds blink away on the alarm clock. Nothing, and two more hours of that.

So here I am. Email. Blog. Work. Oh, but tonight, that “Ahnnnzzz” will come early and it will come sweet.