Sleep Matter

The past six months have been a wet dream when it comes to getting shut eye. There's nothing more fortunate than a good nights rest. It is only a matter of time before the lull breaks.

In the realms of one o'clock in the morning, a wild shriek from the bottom floor disturbs my dream state. Shane and I pretend the sound is just a figment of our imagination. We both are awake, but we refuse to acknowledge reality. The parent stand off begins. I close my eyes tighter in hopes he would retreat back to sleep. Hunter's wails continue on a downward spiral. A few minutes later, "Can you please check on him," I gently knudge my sweet husband. He rolls out of bed and slumps his way downstairs. I wrap myself deeper into my down comforter hoping Shane will manage to silence our son. Instead, Hunter howls increase by the minute. I immediately find a problem in my husband's easing tactic. I come downstairs to find Shane sitting in Hunter's crib. "Dude what in the hell are you doing? Your going to break that thing?" My husband's logic was outrageously ridiculous, when all else fails get in the crib with my son. We get into a mild tiff and I send his useless existence on his way upstairs.

At this point, Hunter is yelling from the top of his lungs like his toes were being plucked with pliars. His nose running, cheeks flushed red, face freshly washed with tears. I realize that his diaper is secreting mustard colored squish. I pick him up to make way to the changing table and his skin is cloaked with a fever that is hot to the touch. How could my dear husband be so blind? Beside the flagrant poop factor, my son was teething on an excruciating level. I dart for the orajel and the homeopathic teething pills that Shane likes labels "baby crack." I follow it up with a hit of tylenol. In a few minutes, Hunter's shrill attack is done.

I give him a fresh bottle of milk and made my way to the couch. In good time, he is snoring and he snores just like his dad. He sleeps with both arms behind his head, he sleeps just like his dad. As my husband is sweet as nectar, I wished on the morning starlight that my son did not inherit his dad's unsound late night practices.

This is Shellie bidding you a good night back to you Bob at the studio!