My daughter's mischievous grin haunts my sleep.
As I lie here dreading another night interrupted by an increasingly independent preschooler who is still testing the waters in her newfound nighttime freedom, my infant awakes, screaming bloody murder. My objectives shift from creative ponderings and putting pen to paper as my mind muses to that of a mother hen, calm, soothe, put back to bed.
Practicality always seems to trump creative mom time - even when all is pitch and I desire only a moment to reflect.
Now I'll lie awake until that child is asleep - her tossing subsiding and her lip-smacking sleep noises resumed.
And then what? I'll wait, knowing - thinking - dreading the other child's midnight waking.
When do other moms ever sleep? How on earth do moms of more than two make it through the night?
***
A growl rises from her throat; is that intended toward the lion beside her, the dream that rudely awoke her, the world in general, mother dearest for suffering so much as to open her door, which seemed to wake her to begin with?
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