The Bed Time Battle

Some days I look at my little angel and think how perfect he is. Other days I just wish he'd not be so much like me. Our newest battle entails bed time. The problem is that my little pumpkin has made his internal clock match mine, which I'm really hating.

Granted, it's awesome to be able to sleep until well after noon, and to not go to sleep until 3 a.m., the problem is that my little shadow has adopted my same sleeping pattern. I should be upset that he sleeps all day, but trust me, I've got no problem with that. If he wants to sleep until 2:30 in the afternoon while I do the same, more power to him. The problem is that he wants to stay up with me also. If he wanted to go off into a corner and do what he wanted and knock off at midnight and leave me to my vices, I'd praise his wise decision. Instead he wants to stay wide awake until well into the morning and take away any chance I have of a moment of peace and quiet.

We've got to be the only family on the block where the 2-year-old is up at ungodly hours like this. And of course, to add insult to injury, on occasion I'll want to make an ice cream run while Daddy is sleeping hard and get ready to go to a hard job where he's over worked and under paid. And I can't even leave out because I'm afraid to walk into a grocery store in the middle of the night because I don't want to look like a terrible parent by having a child with me at 1 in the morning, not for important food, but for nibbles like potato chips.

On the rare times that I have taken him on a late night run, I feel like I owe the few other patrons an explanation. I remember how I was when I was childless and I saw a young child in the grocery store. Oh how I sniveled and thought about how simple it has to be to lay a child down and make them go to sleep. If only I'd known then what I know now. Every time we pass another shopper, how I long to explain to them that he's taken after my tendency to sleep like a homeless drug addict, but that doesn't make me a bad mother. It's the other things they don't see that make my mothering skills questionable. I know that I look unfit having him in his little jammies out at 3 a.m., but it would have been way worse if I'd have left him home. At least I am responsible enough to bring him. Not like he'd let me leave his sight without putting up a huge hissy fit, but still. And to answer the question of the eyes of the other patrons in the store, YES it was worth it for me to come out the house at that time of night for freaking orange juice.

Anyway, I love my son. He truly is perfect. I guess perfection is the curse that comes with having a mother like me.