Mommy and Daddy Haven’t Slept in Days… Because Sleep Cycles Are a Cruel Joke and the Work of the Devil, Himself


I am throwing my hands in the air and calling BS on this whole godforsaken sleep cycle routine nonsense. Flip my tiddlywink pancakes and call me a hoggobblin, because I’m ferocious, sleep deprived, and spent the better portion of my night being kicked in the face by a tiny ninja in our bed.

“Leave him in his crib, don’t put him in your bed,” some will cry out. To these people, I say… let me move his crib into YOUR home, so YOU can listen to him scream bloody murder while you try to sleep. No freaking thank you. I would rather catch a couple minutes of sleep between kidney shots and headbutts to my rib cage than risk certain deafness and bleeding eardrums from the piercing screams of my offspring. (And earplugs don’t block the decibels he is able to achieve, albeit from that tiny body of his.)

We can sit here and blame ourselves for throwing his routine out of whack, though he has always been quite amazing at adapting to new people, places, activities, and schedules. We aren’t a family that typically plans events around naps… so Munchie has learned to be flexible and catch naps on the fly, if he needs one (in a car seat, stroller, shopping cart, couch, restaurant booth, shoulder, etc), and not let it interrupt his nighttime sleep. So, really, there is no need to beat ourselves up about his sudden desire to party all night.

I have been blaming everything on the three teeth that seem to be taunting us, slowly creeping toward the surface for what seems like months (but has quite literally been weeks)… but he isn’t awake out of pain. If he were in pain, he would be crying… or biting things… but he isn’t. What we are seeing is Munchie get into our bed and proceed to do ninja flips, as if he is training to fight an entire arena of zombies, single-handedly… or perhaps for some sort of intricate Cirque du Soleil routine.

Ultimately, I sit here, searching for solutions. I am sure there is some scientific reason (which I refuse to Google, because I’m certain the Google gnomes will tell me my child has some rare disease called antisleepacrobaticninjaitis… or worse… that it’s just a phase we will have to wait out).

While I am almost certain Munchie’s 1-3 hour middle of the night raves are what the medical community (and those creepy pediatric sleep study people… who just watch babies sleep) would deem to be, “a change in his sleep cycle,” and something we will have to, “give some time to work itself out,” I would be more responsive to a diagnosis that I could do something about.

I mean, this has to be the work of the Devil himself… and something that can be solved with a simple exorcism… right? Everyone start praying… I’m going to bust through the doors of a local Catholic church and fill up my BPA-free water bottle (because we don’t need carcinogens interfering with this mess) with some holy water… I’m gonna need someone to print out a script for this… maybe Google can help you out with that?

Oh… hold on… wait a minute… Aunt Lizzie and Uncle Austen just walked through the door with a sleeping Munchie. (Maybe they are some sort of baby whisperers and can get him to sleep through the night, too!) Great… nap time. And Daddy is napping. And… I could have been napping… but instead, I typed this for you. You owe me. (And I think a valid form of payment would be buying my book… when I finally get a chance to write it.)

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