Category Archives: Porter

as in, Magoo.

The Alien Abduction

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As a kid, I remember my mother being an insanely light sleeper. It would not be at all uncommon for me to wake up in the middle of the night, pad into their bedroom and just stand there – knowing that it was prohibited for me to wake them up for something as trivial as warning them of the three-headed axe-wielding alien laying in wait outside my window. Instead I would just stand there. Being in their presence for 5 or 10 minutes would inevitably allow me the courage to head back to bed with the confidence that I would not be eaten in my sleep. This time.

More times than not, the next morning the conversation would go a little like this:

Mom: “Why did you come into our room last night?”
Me: “How did you know I was there?”
Mom: “I could hear you breathing.”

I have been a fairly solid sleeper most of my life, and as I neared the end of my pregnancy with Stella I began to wonder how that would impact my ability to tend to the nightly rituals of feeding and whatnot. Along with the many other physiological changes that take place once one becomes a mother, sleep habits become irretrievably fouled. I now wake up at the sound of Stella’s footsteps before she even leaves her bedroom. Basically, I can hear her breathing.

So you will understand how disturbed I was this morning when I woke up with the distinct feeling that sometime during the night I was abducted by aliens. Here is what I remember. I went to bed at 10-ish, and at some point I remember waking up realizing that not only was Steve to my right, but Stella was to my left (first of all, how did she get there, and secondly, why is it I am always the one stuck in the middle?). Then, there was some point at which I heard Porter making his thumb-chewing noise. Then, the next thing I know, it is 6:15, I am alone in bed and Steve is telling me to get up, already. And all I can think is Where is Stella? How did she get into our bed? When did she get into our bed? When did she get out of our bed? Did Porter sleep all night? COULD SOMEBODY PLEASE TELL ME WHAT IS GOING ON?

Steve said that he got up with Stella twice, and then at 12:30 I let her get into bed with us (which, knowing my policy on this issue, he said completely baffled him). Porter got up at 4:30, and when Steve put him back to bed at 5:30, he moved Stella into her bed. Then, she didn’t get up until almost 7:00! AS IN, 2 HOURS PAST 5:00! Okay, this is just getting wierd.

So can someone please explain to me how he who sleeps with a giant, noisy wind machine strapped to head head wakes up for all this activity and I don’t? Was there a roofie slipped into that handful of M&M’s I ate after dinner? And, NO, I know what you are all thinking: I wasn’t drinking!

I guess, instead of obsessing about all of this I should be rejoicing. My son slept from 8 to 4:30 without the aid of any painkillers, I was able to actually sleep with my daughter in bed next to me, and I clocked 8 straight hours of sleep with only some minor disturbances.

Maybe I’ll have a shirt made: I was abducted by aliens and all I got was a good night’s sleep

Sleep Journal: Day 209

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Poor little McGoo. He has been teething for going on eleventeen weeks now. The bottom front two came in with little fanfare, however he is on the 10-year plan in getting those heinous two top fronts and their side-by-sides. It started weeks ago and just seems to be dragging on, and on, and on. And on. Not only is he carrying a consistent dosage of some variety of pain reliever in his system at all times (we are thinking it would be more efficient to just switch to a Tylenol patch), but he is still holding out on this whole sleep thing. As in, he won’t. Throw in the time-change, and a house with bad acoustics, and you have a reason to drink. A lot. As I explained to my mother-in-law, there is a moment each evening, wherein I have to either drink alcohol or caffeine, or I’ll die.

Aside from the whole teeth-and-sleep thing, otherwise known as the OBVIOUS IMPLICATIONS UNDERTAKEN WHEN PROCREATING, there is the fact that he is this close to crawling in a direction other than backward or sideways. Right now, his best trick is getting himself wedged under things. Where’s Porter? Oh, under the couch again. Hear Porter crying in the next room? No biggie, he has probably just scooted himself under an open drawer again. Oh, you left him in his crib to play for a while? That’s fine, except he has most-likely wriggled both of his legs through the slats – ultimately pinning himself, yet again. One might call it his super-power – being able to wedge himself in the most unlikely of places…which should come in handy as he tries to flee future abuses at the hands of his n’er-do-well older sister.

Add to this scenario a snot-clogging, wheeze-making, even-less-sleep-getting cold, and I have no choice but to blog about it.

But here’s the thing: Through all of this insanity, and chaos, and potential for me to rue the day I ever considered having unprotected sex, I can still manage to break a genuine smile when it is 4:30 in the morning and I see Porter’s little profile in shadow, hear him make that funny Frankenstein noise and realize that I am, indeed, up for the day. Again.