March 31st, 2008
Coley and Genna one in the crook of each arm, in bed. Genna dropped off after some light whining about not having me all to herself. Coley was up and wiggling for a little more than 70 minutes before I lost my temper.
Keeping him in bed is a fight. A happy playful fight on his part but hard just the same. He kicks, and turns and grabs my face again so he can squish my nose into his, breathing heavy and giggling. He pushes his fingers into my dimples while I sing to him, I guess so he can feel the sound in my cheeks. He flips over again so that he can scoot off the bed. He yells near my head and cackles at my reaction. And over and over again. And other nights, I would have just endured it all. Tonight I have no slack left over.
Last night I didn't sleep at all, my fault entirely, but it has worn gapping holes in my patience. When Coley finally bolted out of the bed while I was recovering from a surprise foot to the gut, I put my head in my hands and cried. I smeared my face with all my ragged frustrations, crying like you cry when you are ten and you finally understand the true unjustness of the world. Crying that nothing is fair, and isn't likely to change, ever.
Coley is calm now. After he ran to the back of the house he keened a while, and wouldn't let me touch him. The calm bit is good. But he isn't acting sleepy either. I fear that my strength to stay awake will fade before his does, and then... he'll take over the world?
More likely he'll just get into the piles of surplus easter candy that mom brought. Or he'll deconstruct the couch, spreading the cushions evenly over the floor. Maybe he'll find the tupperware full of crayons that we hide from him and add more color to the walls.
Better not fall asleep first, just in case.
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