I like to sleep. In fact I'm a need my sleep kind of girl. My world turns upside down when I don't get enough sleep. Everything makes me cranky. Nothing makes me smile. All I want to do is hibernate on the couch with my comforter and watch TV all day.
Preston doesn't feel the same way.
Last night, the mild cough that Preston went to bed with turned into something much much worse.
Just as I was going to bed.
He slept just fine for the three and a half hours between his bedtime and mine. But the moment my head touched the pillow the coughing fits began.
It started slow. A couple of coughs, I'd hear him get comfortable again and he'd fall back asleep. After about fifteen minutes of this, he woke up cranky and tired. And he wanted Mommy to fix it. The problem, I couldn't.
So instead of going to sleep, I spent the next hour trying to help Preston get comfortable. Rearranging his blankets, cuddling with him, rubbing his forehead, telling him it was okay, and trying to keep him elevated in hopes that if he was propped up it would help his cough. Sometime during this hour his nose also started to run. And run is a loose term for the faucet that his nose became.
Finally he fell asleep. You'd think that since I was that much more tired than I was when I went to bed, that I would've too. But Preston had moved to our bed for all of the cuddling. Not a big deal since he does this everynight anyways, but last night was a little bit different.
Last night Preston wanted to cuddle. And not just for a minute. If I moved my arm away from him he woke up crying. If I tried to put some distance between us, he woke up crying. If I tried to move his legs off mine, he woke up crying.
I love to cuddle. Except when I want to sleep. I need my space. And not a ton of space, but I do need some sort of space. The kind of space that Preston wasn't willing to give me last night.
I had to make a decision between him sleeping and me sleeping. Guess who won? That's right Preston did. He usually does.
Eventually I fell asleep. I know that I did because two hours later Preston was back up. Crying and fussing and coughing and sniffling.
This time he didn't want to cuddle, he just wanted to go to sleep by himself. So into his crib he went. And with a flip onto his belly and a quick snuggle with his blankie, he was back to sleep.
For an hour and a half. Just 90 minutes. That brings my total sleep for the night up to three and a half hours. THREE AND A HALF HOURS!
This time Preston wasn't going back to sleep. Partially because he couldn't stop coughing long enough to go to sleep, partially because he couldn't breathe out of his nose, partially because Brad started talking to me. Either way, we were up.
Up at the crack of dawn. Scratch that we were up before dawn had even cracked. It was 5am and it was still pitch black outside.
I stuck him in the bathtub to clear him out with the steam and it seemed to help. But he still wasn't ready to go back to bed. I was, but my opinion meant nothing.
An episode of Mr. Rogers Neighborhood, Arthur, and some other PBS show later Preston was willing to put going back to bed up for discussion. Yes, we spent the early morning hours on the couch watching TV. I was tired, he was willing to sit down and let me rest.
We slept for a little over an hour before Preston was up and ready to go. Once again, me not so much. I spent the first hour that we were up curled up on the couch with my comforter, cursing cold season and whoever it was that gave Preston his cold. I'm fairly certain it was Brad. So he was the object of my sleep deprived wrath. And he will serve out his punishment when he gets home from work and I crawl back into bed while he entertains the child that has limitless energy.
I thought that kids required more sleep than adultS? Something about their growing bodies and how they are learning so much, blah blah blah. Clearly that is not true in our house today.