Lucha Libre

It’s 3:14 AM. I know this because I instinctively check my cellphone when an ear-piercing shriek escapes from Gideon’s room and makes its way into our bedroom, where both Stefan and I have been having delicious dreams about puppies and unicorns and superheroes. And other serious things.

A series of increasingly loud whines and yelps then proceed to come out of his room, followed by a “MAAAAAAAAA-MIIIIIIII!”

As I lie there trying to quiet my thumping heart, I think seriously about getting my tubes tied. From his tone, I know this is more than the usual “where’s my pacifier” cry he makes that requires only a quick visit to drop off another pacifier and that ends in him falling back asleep immediately. This is probably a bad dream or other unknown that will require serious intervention. He won’t quiet back down easily.

Stefan sits up in bed. “What? Wha-? Pacifier…”

“No, don’t worry,” I say. “He’s been up for a few minutes. It sounds serious. I’m going to go sleep with him.”

“No, I’ll go…” he says, and then falls back into his pillow.

“You have to go to work. I got it.” But he’s already snoring.

I stand up, grab the 15 pillows I need to sleep these days plus a couple of blankets, and stumble over to Gideon’s room.

“Mami? Hi, Mami!”

“Hi Gideon. Stay there for a minute while Mami fixes the blankets.”

I arrange a makeshift bed on the floor complete with my pillows and blankets, as well as Gideon’s stuffed animals and comforter.

“Okay, kid. Time to go back to sleep.”

I lift him out of his crib and lie down with him on the floor. He snuggles up under my chin and quietly sucks on his pacifier.

“Mami?”

“Yes, Gideon?”

“Another wee?”

“You have two in your hands. That’s enough wees. Go to sleep.”

“Mami?”

“Yes, Gideon?”

“Another another wee?”

“No more, Gideon. Now shush and go to sleep. It’s sleepytime.”

He’s quiet for a minute more then rolls over on his stomach to face me. He prods a pacifier into my eye.

“Gideon, please stop that. It’s time to go to sleep.”

He pulls the pacifier away and swings an arm over my neck. He’s quiet for a few seconds with his face pressed into my pillow, then rolls back around in other direction, tangling my hair into his second pacifier. He whines out loud as he tries to rip his pacifier out of my hair but only proceeds to get it more tangled.

“GIDEON, ouch!” I untangle the pacifier and hand it back to him. “Now shush and go to sleep.”

“Mami, another wee?”

“No, Gideon.”

“A book?”

“It’s too dark to read and it’s time to sleep. Close your eyes and go to sleep.”

I roll over and move my dozen pillows around me and under my belly. A second later, Gideon pulls himself onto his knees and flings his upper body over my face, his head now on my pillow. I can’t breathe and have to move my head back.

Now my head is on the floor, and Gideon’s body is draped over my shoulder and back.

I reach over and grab his legs and pull him all the way over my body until he is, once again, lying in front of me. He chews on his pacifier for a moment and fingers the second one. Then, for God knows what reason, he flings his second pacifier in the air. It bounces off my chin and disappears into the darkness.

“Mami, wee?”

“OH MY GOD, child! You had two wees. Where’d the other one go?”

I sit up to feel around in the dark and he starts to whine again. I finally find the other pacifier under the rocking chair and hand it to him.

“Another wee!”

“Yes, Gideon. Another one. For God’s sake, go to sleep now.”

He throws his body down onto my pillow/face again, and again I am forced to move my head on the floor if I don’t want to asphyxiate.

Then the kicking starts.

First, Gideon kicks me, swinging his legs way up in the air and bringing them down onto my arm and thigh. Then Audric starts in utero. He must figure we’re all playing the Kick Mami game.

At this precise moment I am wishing I was in my imaginary apartment in Paris surrounded by white leather furniture and a female cat named Lulu. It’s nice there.

“Gideon, SETTLE DOWN! It’s time to go to sleep.”

He moans out loud for a moment, then rolls over onto his stomach with his knees tucked under his chin. He is now making a serious attempt at falling asleep.

Two minutes later he is once again kicking and writhing like a boiling lobster. And once again, I turn over both to evade the kicking but also to bring back the feeling I lost in my right leg. The floor is unforgiving to my pregnant legs.

A moment later, a 30 pound toddler body slams into my shoulder and presses his face into my face. There is no escape.

I pull him over my body and the whole wrestling match starts again. A half hour later, he is asleep and I drift off into a dream about surfing with seals. Only they are all pressing their bodies into mine in the water and pushing me off my surfboard.

As I sink to the ocean floor, I think to myself that I am no match for these seals.

When we emerge from his room to face the day a few hours later, my hair looks like it has been licked by mad cows and Gideon is whining for his milk.

“How’d you sleep?” asks Stefan.

“Unless you want to lose a vital part of your anatomy this morning, don’t ask,” I retort as I snatch my first (and sadly, only) cup of coffee for the day.