My son is quite the kid. Most of the time he’s got a wonderfully engaging personality, a unique wit, and the sweetest “Mom you’re the best person ever!” smile. Most of the time. Having said that, I also have to add that he can be a real pain in the ass, especially now that he has turned four.

He has some personal vendetta against the sandman and blissful sleep. He gets up numerous times at night to try sneaking into bed with his father and me, tells me he’s thirsty, or informs me that he can’t sleep despite the fact his eyes won’t stay open even as he’s speaking. He hasn’t ever wet the bed and I’m so thankful for that but it has had its trade-offs.

Instead of waking up at night and just quietly going pee then returning to his bed, he opts for one of two tactics. He either shrieks at the top of his lungs that HE HAS TO PEE!!! or comes barreling into my room frantically telling me he’s wet the bed (also as loud as his little lungs can manage) even though he never actually has. Both of these approaches are guaranteed to scare me enough it’s a wonder I don’t pee the bed myself.

He still manages to get up so early almost every morning that even the chickens think he’s an overachiever. Having just gone HOURS without sustenance, he will stand beside my bed and repeatedly announce that he is, in fact, just dying of starvation and must have CEREAL! (You guessed it, he opts for his “I just stepped on broken glass, walked through rubbing alcohol, and roller-skated naked through a bonfire” voice.) After two incidents where he took a fluffy down pillow to his midsection, he has quickly learned to stand out of range.

I have no choice but to haul myself from my snuggly bed to stop the caterwaulerin’. He doesn’t exactly scream so much as announce at the top of his vocal range; you know, just in case I happened to miss it the first 10 or so times. Once he’s been awake a little bit and his tummy is full he’s usually back to his sweet self despite his lack of quality sleep. Those first couple hours after wrestling with his antics all night are quite trying sometimes though, so you can imagine that in the rare instance I actually beat his cantankerous little ass out of bed in the morning I’m inclined to savor the quiet for as long as possible. I’ve learned that there seems to be almost no end to what I will go through just to avoid waking him. Here are some examples:

I will silently hop around and bawl great heaving sobs of muffled agony if I happen to stub my toe in my quest for early morning coffee.

I can manage to swear soundlessly if my bare foot finds the ONE Lego that has been left in the dark hallway. Even though I may actually be suffering a fatal Lego wound, I’m silent.

I will risk a growling, snarling husband to literally push the man out of the bed and prevent him from hitting that snooze button on his “air raid” alarm again. (He is the opposite of his son. He could sleep through a building demo. Lucky dog.)

I will drink instant coffee to avoid the snarfling hiccup-wheeze the Keurig makes when it’s done brewing. Enough said.

I will sit quietly in the dark living room with no Weather Channel or news because I swear he can HEAR the lights and the TV doesn’t go low enough to escape his supersonic hearing.

I have considered throwing shaving cream filled water balloons at our hard working garbage men and possibly going to jail for the dumbest assault charge ever when they drop the garbage bins. (Or bribing them but that could easily turn into extortion and who has the energy for that? Tell you who doesn’t have the energy…ME!)

Should I happen to swallow the nasty coffee wrong, I have learned I’m able to turn several shades of blue and cough a weird spastic cough voicelessly until I reach a pillow to actually choke like a normal person.

It’s nothing for me to morph into a bug eyed monster requiring our poor crazy kitty to get feline psychotherapy if I catch her throwing litter too loudly or meowing for her chow. She needs to learn that waking him only begins her day of torment sooner damn it!!

People who knock on my door above the volume of an eyelash hitting the floor (especially at nap time) are likely to be chased off with a broom. I don’t care if they WERE delivering something I was oh-so-patiently waiting on. I can just keep waiting.

I will voluntarily hold a sneeze no matter how high the pollen count; ear drums be damned.

When the downstairs neighbor starts the nightly cabinet slamming routine I can seriously bite my tongue hard enough to stop from yelling at them through the floor.

I do love spending my days watching this little human I made grow up, that’s for sure. I’m so lucky to have the opportunity to be home with him and I know that. I know one day I’ll look back on this phase and miss these little moments dearly. I never had anyone look at me with such pure adoration as my son does. Boys are just different with their mamas and I’m so happy to be learning with him as we go.

Now it’s time for round two of attempting to hit a REM cycle before his feet once again hit the floor.