My Mother Hates Me

It is, as I write this, 6:02 in the morning. I have had 45 minutes of sleep, thanks to my mother. Technically, it's thanks to my daughter, but it's my mother's fault. That whole "I hope you have a child just like you" thing is really irritating me today. Emerson has, for the last two nights, determined that she would not like to sleep. She will lay down, close her eyes and breathe heavily, but at the slightest movement pop open those dark little eyes and begin chatting or, in the alternative, yelling. During the night, I "slept" sideways across the bed, with my head at the foot of the bed, on Dave's side of the bed (he safely relocated to the couch) and on about 3.5 inches of bed on my side. Emerson had her head on my shoulder, my arm, my pillow, my tummy, my back, my leg and my face. When she would inadvertently (or so I choose to believe) punch or kick me, I would get a chubby little hand patting me on the face with a "sorry Mommy" and a smile, defying me to be angry with her. (It worked until about 4:00 a.m.) At 4:30, Ethan joined in the fray, much to Emerson's dislike, thus bringing Dave in to get her and take her back to the couch. I've tried to decide whether I'm going to carry on my maternal line's tradition of cursing my daughter with a child just like her. Surely I didn't start this whole non-sleeping nonsense, instead inheriting it from my mother and hers and so forth. At this precise moment, I am actually thinking about expanding the curse to include twins, but don't think that's exactly fair. Maybe I'll sleep on it. Yeah, like that's going to happen....