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It
was winter storm last night. A cold,wet, southerly howling in.
Hailing during the night and downpours of rain, and wind slipping
through the cracks in the windows and around the curtains. At
some stage in the night I was woken by a drip of water on my face
— the windowsill just above my head had a small puddle of
water that splashed everytime a new drip dropped. At another stage
in the night I was woken by a cat just gently extending a single
claw into my butt, reminding me not to roll any closer and squash
her under the bedcovers.
Matthew's
scared of the wind at night, genuinely scared. “Noisy wind,
noisy wind” he'll say. For the longest time last night be
wouldn't go to sleep. He was pulling every toddler's trick out
of the book. “One more story Daddy … cuddle Daddy, cuddle
… watch tv Daddy … want Mummy, Daddy, want Mummy.”
Finally, in sheer exhausted desperation, we left him in his room
with the door shut. After ten minutes of banging and screaming
and sobbing, we realised he wasn't putting an act. We went in
and Debbie lifted him up into her arms for a cuddle. He promptly
threw up all over her, milky mucous vomit. So a shower for Deb,
a change of clothes for Matthew and me spending 15 minutes cleaning
the floors and washing vomit off clothes.
He
calmed down watching the Olympics on tv with us. He seems to like
watching the athletes run and jump and play. He did, though, notice
the skimpy uniforms of the women athletes. He'd look at them,
and then turn to me and say, “tummies” cos you could
see there stomachs, and then turn again and say, “belly buttons”
cos you could see those too. Not that I'd noticed these things
of course!
Finally,
finally, he went to sleep. Then about 1.30am he woke again, with
the wind, and came in to our bedroom, shivering and rubbing his
eyes. We made room and he climbed up in the middle and I went
out and heated a bottle of milk for him. He finished that and
looked up and said, “bed, Daddy”, so I took him back
into his bed and he snuggled down with Lala.
For
about 1/2 an hour, just about the time it took me to get back
to sleep, when he started crying again. I went and got him, and
carried him back into our bed. He lay there between us, turning
one way then the other, “Mummy“, he'd say, then, “Daddy.”
He started to doze off to sleep. Then Debbie did the same. I lay
there. Not dozing. Listening to them snore. Matthew woke first.
He poked Debbie, “Mummy” She stopped snoring and woke.
He fell asleep again. Then Debbie did. The snoring started up
again. He woke. He poked her. She woke. He fell asleep …
After the third or fourth time of being woken by Debbie snoring,
Matthew turned to me, and with what I'm sure was a look of utter
resignation on his face, said, “bed, Daddy”, and I carried
him back into his own bed where, at last, he slept the night through.
Nights
like this are just utterly exhausting. You wake up drained, and
almost dread the next evening, wondering if the same thing's going
to happen again.
We
were talking about it with Sonia, his caregiver, today. She thinks
his not wanting to sleep at night could be that he just wants
to spend more time with us. He's only just started in full-time
care, so it may be a reaction to less time with us. Which in a
way is a lovely thought, but doesn't help the exhaustion!
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