No more sleeping in

The luxury of sleeping in is not afforded most mothers, except on Mother’s Day and birthdays. For a pregnant woman, when falling (and staying) asleep at night is difficult, sleeping in ceases to be a luxury and becomes a necessity. Thanks to a husband who gets the girls started off in the morning, I can usually catch another hour of additional zzz’s beyond the early risers of my family. On some days, Mark slips off to work, leaving me slumbering peacefully and the girls glued peacefully to a movie. [Thus it should come as no surprise that Eliza and Sage can quote most of “The Wizard of Oz”—last month’s library acquisition.]

I have been enjoying this naughty little routine of sleeping in while kids lose a few brain cells over “Dora” or “The Wizard of Oz,” fully intending on turning over a new leaf when my little lemon-sized baby in utero decides to turn over a new leaf (called “second trimester”) and quit making me sick. Today it became apparent that it’s time for the leaf to turn, in spite of lemon baby’s refusal to cooperate.

Eliza woke me up in bed at 7:30. She told me she had poopies (which usually means she wants to take off her diaper, and has nothing to do with the contents thereof). I carried her back to the living room black box babysitter, set her down, and went back to bed and fell asleep. [In my defense, Eliza passed on a nasty case of the flu just in time for Mother’s day, and I am still recovering.] Some time later, Eliza woke me up again. I flipped over to see the clock—8:40!!! But actually, I should reserve those three exclamation marks for the fact that Eliza was buck naked—sans “poopy” diaper!!! I have never scurried out of bed more quickly. I’m sure Eliza originally woke me with some request, but she was immediately forgotten as I scoured the floors in every room looking for the used diaper, or any possible contents.

Without going into great detail, I’ll say that within ten minutes I had located the offending diaper (in the trash can), the diaper’s previous contents (on the laundry room floor), deposited my own socks in the dirty clothes hamper, and rounded up both girls for a bath. [Oops, that probably counts as great detail.]

This is why there will be no more sleeping in allowed at our house.

Unless I can find some sort of removable super glue for Eliza’s PJs.

(Our attempt at stunting Eliza's unauthorized efforts to access her diaper--pants on top of PJs.)