The 3 a.m. Cold Cock

I had a little incident last night that further cemented my belief that God created us and He created us perfectly and He took extra special care to design our Parental Motherboards to function even when we are sleep deprived or fed up with it all. If you've been reading this blog for a while, you know that Olivia isn't a great sleeper. Well, actually, she's a crappy sleeper. She hates sleep. 

Bed time around here usually consists of her and I falling asleep in my bed to some animated film on Netflix after which Mike comes in and moves her to her bed. Around 3 a.m. when I'm in the most wonderful dream phase, she will come barreling through the house, screeching like she is on fire, yelling and crying "MMMMMMMMMMMOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!" 

Now, lest you think we routinely switch bedrooms to throw her off our scent, let me assure you we do not. We sleep in the same room. Every night. Our bed is in the same place in that room. Every night. The floor plan of our house does not shift by the day or hour. The same hallway leads from her room to ours. Every night. 

And yet, every night, she comes out of her room, bed head hair flying in the wind and she sprints through the house as though she is being chased through an obstacle course. She nearly collides with walls and doors and furniture, all the while screaming my name as though she believes she has been abandoned in the wilds of suburbia. 

In my pre-parent life, upon hearing a sound like the screeching of a tribe of banshees, I would have grabbed the nearest weapon and thrown myself on the ground in a ninja-like pose, ready to strike down the creatures who had invaded my bedroom and my precious, precious sleep. But, alas, my Parental Motherboard comes to life and instead of becoming a Slayer of Banshees, I move over to the middle of the bed, throw back the covers, and in a sleep slurred voice say as nicely as possible at 3 o'clock in the f-ing morning, "It's okay sweetie, come lay down with Mommy." My sweet girl makes her way to our bed like the steel ball in a pinball machine, bumping into whatever is in her way. She lays down beside me, I wipe the tears from her cheeks, she snuggles against me, and just as I start to drift back off to sleep, she sweetly says, "Mommy, I want some water..." And instead of saying, "AWWWWWWW, HELLL NO!!!" I feel my body being propelled through the kitchen. I watch as my hands skillfully fill a glass of water in the dark. And never am I actually fully awake. 

Last night though, last night my Parental Motherboard nearly went into meltdown mode. 

Last night after the banshee attack and the water, I drifted back off into sweet dreamland. Obviously though I fell asleep, not in my comfy bed but in a mixed martial arts octagon. Weird conclusion? Well, what would you have thought if you had awoken to a kidney kick and a headbutt into the bridge of your nose? Yep, that's right. My sweet child, the fruit of my womb, had reared up in her sleep and brought her skull (which is apparently made of marble) crashing into my nose. I woke up gasping and convinced that I was being attacked by a team of WWE contenders. 

If you had asked me pre-parenthood what I would have done if I got headbutted in my sleep, I probably would have told you that whoever or whatever did it, would have been decapitated. I would have told you that my inner Chuck Norris would have come out and I would have to lay down a serious a$$ whoopin' on whoever caused me such horrid pain in the middle of an f-ing dream. 

And though my animalistic fight syndrome (Yeah, I know, it's supposed to be fight or flight but I'm pretty sure my genes never really got a good dose of the "flight" part) had to be wrestled back into it's cage like a snarling and angry mountain lion, my Parental Motherboard kept clicking away to keep me from going bat S&*T crazy, all while checking my nose for blood. 

I got out of bed, said "I QUIT" and walked out of the room. Olivia laid there with Mike screaming for me to come back but I calmly walked to the guest room, shut the door to block out the screaming, and went back to sleep. Where I dreamed of a place where there are king sized beds to be slept in all alone without crazy WWE Banshees causing bodily harm to me at 3 o'clock in the mother flippin' morning. I feel a *little* bad about abandoning Mike to the Abusive Banshee but it was like a war zone in there. I cannot be held responsible for my actions at 3 a.m. I'm pretty sure there are laws and stuff about not being held accountable when you are under duress. And duress I was under, people! 

Tonight though, I will be prepared for the insanity. But if you just so happen to come to my house (for emergency purposes only) at 3 a.m., don't be surprised when I answer the door in full football garb--helmet and all.