So, the Girl. She does this thing that I did at her age. She doesn't like to sleep in her own bed.
She starts out there, more or less. But somewhere in the wee hours, she wakes up. And that's when my bed shines with the light of Mecca, beckoning her to its warm embrace. Someone once wrote about how sneaky a similar Scorpiolette had become in her nocturnal wanderings, which had prompted me to inform the Girl that if she was very, very quiet when she climbed into my bed, so quiet that I didn't wake up, I wouldn't be able to put her BACK in her bed. This worked like a charm at the time, my priority being to get some damned sleep. Now that my priority is to get the kid to sleep in her own bed? Not so much. Plus, she's sneaky getting in, but eventually she sticks her feet in my ribs, which means I wake up every morning, around 3:00 a.m., which really throws off the whole sleep cycle thing.
So I've vowed to haul myself out of bed when she comes in, take her back to her bed, and lie down with her there until she gives up and just figures the extra walking isn't worth it. Some day soon, I envision a full night's uninterrupted rest.
The other night, I managed to get both kids to sleep without falling asleep myself, lying next to one or the other. The reward: A hot bath, that rarist of luxuries in this house.
But damn, the thing wiped me out! Maybe I made it too hot, maybe I stayed in too long, but when I got out, I collapsed into bed. I seem to remember thinking, "Well, at least I'll sleep well."
Which I did, I guess. Until I woke up, around 3:00 a.m..
In the Girl's bed.
No idea how I got there. But she was sound asleep, so I guess I was sneaky.