Yesterday afternoon while cleaning the house (which actually just started as a small two-loads of laundry, sweeping, possibly mopping morning and exploded into an OCD cleaning fest) I got the brilliant idea that the girls "queen-sized" bed should be separated into the two twins it actually is. The ultimate kiddie sleep bed was born out of necessity. I was just too tired and physically wounded from sleeping in either one of their little twins when called upon in the middle of the night, so I put them together, placed a soft featherbed on top and queen sheets, and got some good sleep sandwiched between Thing One and Thing Two. And whilst I got some semi-enjoyable shut eye, I was doing the girls no service preventing them from learning to sleep alone and denying them their "own" beds. So they were split.
We all marveled at the space created in the room with the separated beds. How each would have her own place to sit and daydream. How there was greater access to the chalkboard wall. The bookshelf that is home to about 1,000 books was turned upright, rather than on its side, and gave the place a cool sitting room, hang out vibe with greater floor space and room for their work table and chairs. We were all giddy and high, save Papa who really thought it was cool but is French so has to be pretty laid back about the whole thing, and I allowed myself to dream of a full night's sleep in my own king-sized bed that has been home to one sleeping Frenchman and not to the Frenchman and his lovely bride (me).
When we went to put the girlies to bed that night and by we, I mean me (I did), Lily started in with the whole, "I'm not sure I'm ready to be on my own" nonsense, while Virginie was all, "I am a big girl. I totally got this" jam. I had to take turns spending a few minutes with each ladybug in her own tiny crawl space, cuddling, hugging, promising to love each other forever. When I last landed in Virginie's bed (this after going back and forth between them about 100 times), Lily fell fast asleep. Virginie, who had been up late the night before and up early, was still chattering away about what a big fucking girl she was, even though I was in the dang bed with her! She then asked if we could go to my bed for a second and yes, judge not lest ye be judged, I went with her hoping her talk in the other room would not wake up her now long sleeping sister. We sat there for about 30 seconds and then she asked to return to her own bed, but alone. Without Mommy. Yay. What she meant was that I needed to come but that I should not sleep in her bed with her. I was to sit on the floor holding her hand.
I will spare you all the bloody details but suffice it to say, the Brave went down about thirty minutes later. I got out of the room and was pissed. I'd spent the night, my time, battling with the kiddle, while the husband cleared the table, put the dishes in the sink, and promptly went to his computer to read and listen to music. I came off the battlefield to the soaking dishes, laundry on the bed, and the next day's backpacks and lunches needing to be prepped. Somehow I must give off the sexy vibe during these rageful moments because there was the husband looking for a lovin' spoonful. "I just want to be alone for a minute, babe," I imagine I said, but more than likely barked. I do pretty well during the course of a twelve hour plus day of giving, giving, giving, but when the night time comes around and I have still not had a break, I let myself go to Crazytown.
The people are little and the new sleeping arrangement was a change. They will get used to it and sleep better and longer one hopes. My thinly worn patience revealed a slowly healing wound underneath. I just needed a little privacy, a little thinking time, a little space, the sound of no one's voice, the touch of no one's hand. That was just for tonight, not always. A good night's sleep can fill Mommy up and prepare her for better days. that's all I want.
Still waiting on the good night's sleep but happy to have the girls meet me in my bed in the morning, proud of themselves, giddy with proof of their getting to big girl status, and excited to do it all again. (Except for the chattering on and on part.)
(c) Copyright 2012. Repatriated Mama: Back to the Suburban Grind.
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