Forgotten Sleep

with my own kids acting as the assassins?

I love my children. I really do. I love playing with them. I love being a young-enough mom to get down on the floor, roll around, pick them up, run through the house with them as airplanes, turn them upside down, lift them over my head…you get the point.

But I’ve realized lately that there’s a severe disadvantage to this. By positioning myself on the floor, I’m a wonderful target. For example, take this afternoon’s game of “Let’s Gently Toss the Ball.” Big Girl and Loving Husband were playing wonderfully. Even Little Man got in on the action. When it came to me, though, Big Girl not only tossed the ball to me, but she also launched her whole body at my face.

Result: scrunched and twisted nose.

It took me several minutes before I convinced myself that I wasn’t going to end up with bruises under my eyes, forcing me to spend the next few days convincing people that I had not, in fact, gotten into a knock-down, drag-out with Loving Husband this weekend and come out on the losing end.

Little Man is not to be outdone. As I often do, I carried Little Man on my hip tonight, finishing up the last bits of dinner prep. Suddenly, I feel a very strong, heavy pinch on my left arm. Little Man is biting me. Now, I know he’s teething, but c’mon…biting me?! Isn’t that what his Binky is for?

Fast-forward to tonight after dinner. We’re all in Little Man’s room, playing. He’s crawling around, thumbing through his board books, and Big Girl is pretending to sun bathe on a small towel. Loving Husband is relaxing in the Laz-y-Boy, and I’m stretched out on the floor, attempting to loosen some of my back muscles.

Big Girl decides she’s not happy just sun bathing. She wants to bounce around, showing off her ballet skills. Before I know it, she has completed a pile drive to my stomach with her elbow. All of the air rushed out of my lungs, and I felt my dinner attempt to flee my body. Fortunately, it changed its mind.

As I was curled up on my side, Little Man decided that he needed to help Mommy. He speed-crawls over, climbs over my stomach, and proceeds to pinch my left breast. Hard. OUCH!

At this point, Loving Husband is having more than a chuckle at my predicament. He even jokes that the kids will put a knife through my head. Nice.

Finally, Little Man moves back to his books, and Big Girl decides drawing will be her wind-down activity for the evening.

After a few minutes, she looks at me and said, “Mommy, it’s a picture of you with a knife through your head.”

I think I’m locking my bedroom door tonight.