I am under full scale attack. It is relentless. Like Chinese water torture. There is no break, only small glimmers of hope soon crushed.
I feel like the walking dead.
I will soon truly be the walking dead.
The little rebel is being a trickster. He is not interested at all in his naps. Or in sleeping at night.
Suddenly my little monster has decided that sleep is for the weak.
I am weak.
I need sleep.
Please, take a friggin' nap little baby.
I will let you eat pure bananas with no rice cereal.
I will let Isabeau lick your hands.
I will let you eat your socks.
I will give you pure apple juice.
I will let you watch the TV instead of turning you away from it's mind numbing glare.
Ronan has decided that the hours of 3:00-4:00am are the perfect play time. He insists that I join him for the party. Since I refuse, we play the cry it out game.
He has also decided to wake up for the day when he hears Daddy's alarm clock go off at 5:30am.
I used to be able to deal with all of this by catching up on my sleep when he took his glorious two hour morning nap. If that failed, I could catch up during the blessed two hour afternoon nap.
Yesterday he napped for 20 mins. That was long enough for me to snuggle into my warm fluffy bed and just barley begin to fall asleep. I was right on the edge. Then Ronan decided he was recharged and ready to get up. The afternoon nap was not any better.
I thought it was a fluke.
No such luck. Same deal last night and today.
He is exhausted but insists on staying up to see if anything fun happens. Meanwhile he is in a bad mood. And so am I.
Could it have something to do with his new, really weird, favorite sleeping position?