How ironic that yesterday's post was about my sleep disorder.
I have just returned from my bedroom where Grace has been sleeping. Early this evening Brad and I put her down in there with some medicine to help her recover from a nasty cough. It is now past midnight, and I just barely snuck into my room to retrieve my scriptures to read before going to sleep in the guest bedroom. I must not have been quiet enough. As I was sneaking back out, Grace woke up whining. "Please, can I watch Baby Einstein. Please?!" Have you ever let a sleepless two-year-old watch a movie while everyone else tries to sleep? I have. Not fun. No one ends up actually sleeping. So instead, I laid down beside her, snuggling, talking softly, singing lullabies, counting sheep... one... two... three... four... She would not be distracted. She rose to her knees, crowding over me, and with wide, blood-shot eyes and wild hair (think Rochester's mad woman from Jane Eyre) she shrieked, "I WANT TO WATCH BABY EINSTIIIIIINNNE!" And then she slapped my face twice. Kind of hard. My cheek still smarts. I turned my head away, fighting against my desire to weep over being a failed-mom and my urge to spank her little bum very very very hard. And then I realized she was snoring.
Grace and I don't just sleep-walk or sleep-talk. No. We're really talented. Not only can we carry on full conversations in our sleep, but we fly into a sleep-rage.
And on that note I hereby apologize to my dear friends and family who have been on the receiving end of my groggy, angry insanity. I am terribly sorry. Thank you for not institutionalizing me yet.
Now to the rest of you who thought I was a relatively average, nice, "sorry"-saying gal, beware. I apparently have untold reservoirs of repressed, violent fury. And to Grace's future husband: It's my fault. I apologize in advance.