I’ve been seeing weird things in my room lately. For four nights (not in a row) I’ve woken up, looked toward my bedroom door, and saw a black mass above it.
My first instinct, as always, is to debunk. Could it be a shadow? Room is pitch black, what would it be a shadow of? Couldn’t find anything that would cast a shadow above the door that would explain this away. Maybe it’s just my eyes trying to see in the dark and failing, my eyes aren’t exactly fantastic and I have shitty night vision. The first night I was convinced it was nothing more than a trick of the eyes and I went back to sleep, but when it showed up AGAIN? I got that creepy skin-crawly feeling you get when something just doesn’t feel quite right. When you feel like something is watching you. Something is in your room that you didn’t invite.
What’d I do? The only thing I could. I pulled the covers up over my head and pretended it wasn’t there.
Let’s just say that my sleep hasn’t been awesome since this little friend began arriving in the overnight hours, but that’s not even the worst of it. Not even the most horrifying of apparitions to appear in my room in the wee hours of the night. There’s something far more sinister. Far more terrifying than a black mass. And I can’t hide under the covers from it, because it’s there, too.
My 7 year old.
Despite my own best interests, I stay up really late after the kids go to bed to get not only shit done that I can’t do while the’re awake, but to get ME time. I needs my me time like my dog needs a fucking breathmint. When I walk upstairs for bed time, it’s not because I’m putting myself to bed at a reasonable time, it’s because I’m exhausted, so the last thing I want to see when I flick on my bedroom light is my kid in my bed, sweating on my pillow. Side note: WHY DO THEIR HEADS SWEAT SO MUCH. IT’S NOT NATURAL.
This is exactly the scene I flicked the light on to last night. Per usual, he was moved back into his bed.
Middle of the night, I am awoken. Not just by the black mass once again hovering above my door, but by a little voice next to the bed. This might sound like the beginning of a really fucking scary horror movie, but it’s not. It’s my damn life. It’s my friggin’ 7 year old, back in my room, wanting to crawl into my bed AGAIN. No nightmare. No storm. No loud noises waking him up. Apparently, he was wheezing too much to sleep in his own bed and he thought he’d sleep better wheezing next to me. How this makes sense, I have no idea. Why was he wheezing? Because he’d spent a solid hour yesterday screaming and crying over having to pick up his own mess.
What is my bed? Narnia? Atlantis? Aladdin’s Magic Carpet? NO! It’s a shitty old bed covered by mediocre memory foam I won in a Christmas gift exchange game when I stole it from my step sister, who is probably still mad at me over it. And it’s queen sized, so space for two people is limited, let alone three.
The kid was never a “bad” sleeper (that’d be his brother)- but it took a long time to get a full night of rest after he was born and to get him 100% out of my bed and into his. While I love cuddles, I thought after a certain age kids weren’t interested in crawling into bed with us anymore. Spend a night with a 7 year old wheezing into your face and still try to claim that’s true.
Just another lie told to parents. Put it up there with “you’ll miss that when they get older” and “the terrible twos are the worst. Once you’re past that, you’ll be fine!”
You’re not getting your bed back. Or your sanity. Or all the hours you were forced to sit through Caillou and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.
Best compliment you can give me is to tell me you hope your future kids turn out like mine. I mean, you're lying, but it's a nice compliment
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