There’s Never A Good Time (But there’s a better time than that)

If there’s one thing I’m really terrible at in life it’s sleeping. It’s not that I don’t want to. I really truly long for my bedtime. It’s a state of peace. The moment when all else fades away and you can finally rest your body and soul. If I had enough time to dream, I would dream about sleeping.

My lovely daughter has discovered this about me… and she uses it… and I’m beginning to believe it’s on purpose. Like a sly manipulative pint sized ninja, she waits until the very last moment to bring up some terrible day-shattering event that just causes her to be completely unable to lay the hell down and go to sleep. She wants to talk about it, snuggle, anything but stay in her own bed and she’s good at sleeping. She must’ve learned that from someone else. Snuck out at night and found a monk in a faraway land to teach her not only to sleep better than a rock but to take away any little pathetic ability that I had to get even the tiniest amount of sleep. She’s devious that one. I’m beginning to think she’s plotting against me.

After much time last night of telling me ridiculous excuses of why she can’t sleep, then lying to me, and severely abusing her tear ducts I finally convinced her to lay down quietly. We will talk about it in the morning. I’m grouchy enough as it is… she’s not helping at one o’clock in the morning. That dream of my bedtime gets more and more fuzzy everyday.

Of course, by the time we wake up and sit down to breakfast I’m already over last night’s events. She came into my room sporting a hairdo that could frighten babies down to their bones this morning. It’s a little hard to remember the state of mind I was in the night before after seeing that. That hairdo is enough punishment, I think. I’m too tired to pick up where we left off. Go figure. Sometimes I think the only reason for parenting troubles is karma getting us back for being little shits to our parents. The cycle of sanity loss.

I’m submitting my dues to the karma gods. If we measure a fulfilled life by the level of sanity left over I think I’ve paid in full. Stamp it, process it, I’m done…

I guess at least until her teenage years… She’s lucky I find her unfailingly adorable. I hope that thought carries me to the big sleep. My final bedtime… I should be good at sleeping by then. I hope.

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