Wednesday, August 3, 2011


Every night from approximately 7:30 pm EST to 8:30 pm EST (If I'm lucky). I am held hostage by a terrorist.

A sweet faced, gentle spirited, outgoing, funny, sleep terrorist.

Sometimes there are weapons of mass destruction involved.

Often he speaks a language of which I do not understand.

He makes impossible demands that I cannot meet.

I am inclined to give into his demands. After an hour of books, songs, cuddling and otherwise pleading for my freedom I will do almost anything to make my escape into that magical hour where my kiddo is a sleep and I can finally answer email, do the dishes, shower, read a book that doesn't rhyme, or GASP pee in piece!

Then I remember that I do not negotiate with terrorists.

So, the stand off begins.

It's an epic war. A classic battle of will power.

He does gymnastics, dances, sings, and performs every cute trick he knows.

I pretend not to be looking. I work hard not to smile and marvel at how charming he really is.

I take mental snapshots for later.

I center myself and begin to ignore him.

More gymnastics.

I wish he came with a power down switch.

Eventually, he grows bored.

He tells me "mama leave".

YES! Progress! These means I'M WINNING!

So I leave. Only I am wise, I shut the door behind me and start the timer.

He begins to freak out, lest he be separated from me at bedtime for more than 2.57 seconds.

He shrieks, he howls, he screams.

My heart tugs to go to him, to rescue him. But I wait.

He howls more.

I pray the neighbors don't think I'm actually neglecting him and call CPS on me.

I come back to him.

He runs towards he bed, lays down, and asks to cuddle.

His breathing grows heavy, his lips open just slightly.

I sneak out, thankful that the littlest piece of my heart is finally asleep. I pray that the sleep terrorist doesn't wake up, lest we have to start all over again.

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