A rough night

Biscuit sleeps well. So well that when I share his sleeping habits, other moms roll their eyes at me.

Biscuit sleeps so well, in fact, that Jeff and I are spoiled. If we don't get the sleep we're used to, we're grumpy, grumpy people!

So when we heard Biscuit over the baby monitor this morning at 5:45, it was a little startling. He was yelling, "DAD! DAD! I NEED MY DAD!"

Our bedroom is downstairs, and Biscuit's is upstairs. And at 5:45, those stairs seem almost insurmountable. 

So I made Jeff go! Biscuit was hollering for his Dad, after all.

Jeff tried to soothe Biscuit and talk him into going back to bed. But apparently the nightmare was bad enough that Biscuit had no intentions of staying upstairs by himself. He wanted to join Jeff and me in our bed.

On Saturday and Sunday mornings, when Biscuit wakes up, sometimes we bring him downstairs to our bed. He sits in the middle of our king-size bed, we turn on some cartoons, then Jeff and I doze in and out until we're ready to get up. It's great. My whole little family, together.

But it was different this morning. Biscuit was not in a good place. He was half asleep, half awake and ALL out of sorts.

Biscuit said he needed to go to the bathroom. He was wearing pajamas that zip up the front and have a snap at the top. Stupid me, I unsnapped his jammies before he left the bedroom.

"NOOOOO, Mom," Biscuit whined. "Don't do that 'til I'm in the bathroom. Don't, Mom. Put it back. Put it back, Mom."

So I snapped it back.

Biscuit made his way to the half-bath in the hall, and I asked Jeff to accompany him while I went to the master bathroom. As Biscuit was unzipping his pajamas, he realized Jeff was with him instead of me, and he melted down again.

"NOOOO, Dad," Biscuit whine. "I want my Mom. I want my Mom in here!"

I hurried to take care of business and went into the half-bath. Biscuit was being a real pain. I tried to help him get his pajamas back on, but he wanted to do it by himself. I was sleepy. I was ready to go back to bed. So I got short with him. "Biscuit, stick your arm in your pajamas, right now."

I helped Biscuit wash his hands and sent him on his way back to our bed. He got about halfway there, and I realized that he still wasn't completely awake.

"Griffin," I said to him and held my arms out. Biscuit turned around and ran into my arms. I sat down on the bench at the end of our bed and rocked back and forth. Biscuit had his head on my shoulder, and I realized how tall he's gotten. I had a hard time trying to figure out where to put Biscuit's legs.

I asked Biscuit if he was okay, and in this quiet little whisper, he said, "No, Mom." So I held on closer and rocked some more. I wanted so bad to make Biscuit feel better, but I have to admit that I was really enjoying holding him close. As he's gotten older, Biscuit doesn't like to be snuggled and held. So holding him like that was something that just doesn't happen anymore.

After about 20 minutes, Biscuit pushed away from me and said, "I feel okay now, Mom." He wanted to get back in our bed. I told him to scoot over so I could get in, too, and in no time, Biscuit was sound asleep.

Jeff was snoozing soundly on his side, and Biscuit didn't scoot over quite far enough. I was teetering on the edge of the bed. Sleeping with Biscuit when he's fitful is like sleeping with a small tornado. You doze off, you get kicked in the back. You doze off, you feel a little hand playing in your hair. You doze off, you feel an elbow in your shoulder blade.

I never got to go back to sleep, but Biscuit did. He slept for about another hour or hour and a half, and when he woke up, he was a happy little camper. He was singing and humming and laughing.

I, on the other hand, was not a happy camper. Grumpy, sleepy, tired.

I'm hoping tomorrow morning will be one of those happy cartoon-watching mornings. Fingers crossed.