Night Fever, Night Fever

We’ve had more than a few nights of badly broken sleep recently. Bean’s been waking up shortly after midnight, or else around 4:30, to scream the house down. In the former case, it’s been due to a cold she caught from me: she can’t stand sleeping with a stuffy nose. In the latter, it’s the bleeding latitude: at this time of year, our part of the world is getting light at 3:50 am. Either way, we are shambling idiot zombies at the moment.

Last night was quite bad. T. got up to look in on Li’l Shrieky at about 1:10. He sat on the couch in her bedroom, cuddling her close. She gradually fell back to sleep, but when he stood up to put her back in her cot, “her wake-up circuits were wired to her internal gyroscope” (his words), and she began to wail again.

So T. brought her into bed with us. On one level, it worked: she was quiet. On another, it failed entirely: she has the ability to monopolize every square centimeter of a queen-size bed, leaving the parents to perch on the margins. And she’s not content to just lie there. She has to slowly rotate through 360 degrees, sweeping her feet to find new expanses of blanket, or sticking them in Daddy’s kidneys or Mummy’s throat (!).

I tried having her sleep on top of me, which worked until she got sweaty and started fidgeting. She gave a violent lurch and rolled off me, out of bed, catching and bruising her eyebrow on the corner of the bedside table. Naturally, she wailed. I calmed her down, and slipped her back into the middle of the bed. Her breathing went slow and even. She stopped kicking her feet. I lay listening, hardly daring to breathe. Go to sleep, kid, I prayed.

When I was certain she’d finally dropped off, I opened an eye and found her staring at me intently.

“Mama seepin’,” she whispered.

“Not yet,” I muttered.

“Daddy seepin’. Quinn seepin’.” (The cat was in bed with us, too, though I evicted her eventually.)

Bean flapped her hands, obviously struck by a great thought. “Liiiiiight seepin’,” she observed, in a tone of wonderment.

That made me crack up. “Quiet,” groaned Trev. “Quiyyy,” Bean replied.

The solution: Mummy spent the night downstairs, on the sofa. Once Bean had half the bed to herself, she was out like a light.



  1. “her wake-up circuits were wired to her internal gyroscope”… lol!!! You two are certainly meant for each other.. who says that?? Looks like little Eve is turning out ot be a lot like Aunt Cathy. I believe I was no fun to if not impossible to sleep with at that age as well.. fun time ahead 😉

  2. ….Eve certainly seems to be a combination of may ‘ancestors’ s while being uniquely herself.
    Cathy turned me out of a king sized bed at about the same age

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