June 25, 2009 by Marj Hatzell
Look. I try to maintain a cheery disposition and always look on the bright side of life (quick! Name that film!) but even I, POLLY-FREAKING-ANNA, get bogged down with everyday life. And by everyday life, I mean (of course) parenting a child with severe severe disabilities, living with mental illness, not sleeping ever and entertaining Bug Boy, the grumpiest child on the planet earth (and, interestingly enough, his name means LIGHT, people. FREAKING LIGHT).
I think on of the most difficult aspects of my life is having things-of-fine-particulate dumped all over my house on a very regular basis. Were talking bread crumbs, sugar, salt, spices, parmesan cheese and anything of a teeny, little, freaking-hard-to-vacuum-up nature. I am sure that if I mixed all of those things together it would make a great meatloaf mix or something. Of course, it would also have snot and dog hair mixed in. But that’s neither here nor there. I’m talking ANNOYING CRAP DUMPED ALL OVER MY HOUSE. And if it isn’t little, tiny stuff, it’s water. As in, we have to lock the toilets and turn off the sink just to get anything done in the house. Also? Dog water. Ew. Also also? Dog food that got soggy in dog water. Ewwwwwww.
Honestly, it sounds harmless, but it isn’t. He’ll stim on ANYTHING. Rocks, wood chips, dirt, you name it. It is very destructive. He ripped out three clumps of Susans in my back yard garden. He dumps dollars and dollars of food. I mean, GREAT! HE’S EXPLORING AND DEVELOPING! But, OMFG! IF HE RUINS ONE MORE CARPET I AM GOING TO CLAW SOMEONE’S FACE OFF.
Of course, the only thing that really gets my Irish up more than the stimming is the fact that my six-year-old, my beautiful gift from the heavens, also SLEEPS IN MY BED. This is a child that slept through the night as an infant just home from the hospital, that went to bed by himself every single night for nearly six years and that prefers to fall asleep without anyone touching or bothering him. No rocking! No singing! No reading! But nine months ago (SEEMS LIKE NINE YEARS) he suddenly became petrified of sleeping in his room. Ever put a cat in bathwater? Yeah, it was like that. Except it hurts more, because he’s like, forty-five pounds? And then the husband said, “Well. At least he’s sleeping! And he has a double bed! It’ll just be a few days and then we can get him back in his room.
Did I mention it has been nine months?
So yeah, we’ve tried it all. Bribing him. Moving him when he falls asleep. Buying a TV just for his room. Getting cool stuff for his room. Getting him toys just for his room. Alas, none of it works. He hangs out at the doorway and looks at us like we’re mad. And WE ARE MAD! We’re absosmurfly nutso because WE CANNOT SLEEP TOGETHER IN OUR OWN ROOM! I have to sleep with him, he kicks Daddy out.
So, without further ado, My top ten reasons for hating despising not-really-appreciating my six-year-old sleeping in my bed.
10) He hogs all of the covers
9) He takes up three-quarters of the bed
8) He is the only human being on the face of the planet that flops around more than his father, the flounder.
7) He wants to sleep with his feet between my knees and his hands on my head
6) Late-night Thomas the Tank Engine viewing parties
5) My husband sleeps in the other room
4) I do not sleep with my husband
3) I also don’t SLEEP WITH MY HUSBAND. As in, wink-wink-nudge-nudge.
2) He snores.
1) MY SIX-YEAR-OLD WON’T GET OUT OF MY BED!
Just in case I haven’t made it abundantly clear, I WANT HIM OUT. There. That feels better. Cathartic, really. The good news? Last night, for the third time, we managed to get him in his own room and my husband slept beside me for a whopping three hours. Let’s hope there is more of that to come. ‘Cause I’d much rather have the flounder husband in there, mmkay?