Wednesday, December 23, 2009
I have already established that the six year old is not an ideal babysitter.
Five Year Old Sitter.
She's a year older now. A year wiser. A year more responsible. Or not.
The baby is teething. It means disturbed nights. I'm not sure if I've explained to you the extent of the love affair I have with my bed. I am the Tiger Woods of sleep.
I would spend my weekends there if it was an option.
I have two children - so, of course, it's not an option.
For me - sleep deprivation has been my biggest parenting nemesis. I do not like my sleep disturbed, I do not like to sleep less than seven hours. I do not like it Sam I am.
Last night was a particularly hard night. I was up with the baby for several hours.
When the six year old woke - I was just getting back to sleep.
I asked her to go play in her room for a while. As I drifted back off to sleep I heard her talking to the baby. I remember thinking through the haze of falling asleep - did she get the baby out of her crib?
Forty five minutes later I wake with a start. Where is the baby?
I run downstairs. There in the living room are my two girls playing.
Relieved I head into the kitchen to make breakfast.
It's a full hour before I see the couch.
It used to be champagne suede. It now has a swirly design. In red marker pen.
I know that this is my fault. I know I can't blame the baby or the six year old.
(Although I might for a few minutes.)
It's actually quite pretty. It matches the design which has coincidentally appeared on the baby's pajamas. After a major caffeine injection and some Googling for stain removal tips I begin the damage repair.
High price for a 45 minute nap.