Before having our third child, I could have taught a master class in “How to quickly and easily return your child to bed in the middle of the night.”

Enter Chloe and our brains caught on fire because everything we knew about raising healthy, happy children went up in flames.

I think we both decided, she’s our third and last child, she’s two and a half and the time is passing so quickly. Isn’t it adorable that she thinks there’s an imaginary spider in her bed at 4:17am and we are the only ones who can save her? Hop into our bed you cute young thing!


At first, she’s pretty cute, almost grateful she’s been invited in. That or she’s particularly proud that she’s tricked us with the spider story for the second night in a row. (I can’t believe these morons are actually buying this!)

After a series of light arm strokes from our  new bedmate she begins to terrorize our once king-sized bed which now feels like three exceptionally large humans wearing those novelty sumo wrestling costumes have been wedged into a play pen.

She mounts Greg’s head and I gently remove her and explain she has to close her eyes or she can’t stay.

“If I close my eyes, I can’t see!”

A solid argument.

She crawls on top of my face, pauses at my neck to let me know who’s in charge before becoming mesmerized by the red lights on the clock radio surrounded by complete darkness.

Thirty minutes in and she’s gone too far. Her sharp chin has been strategically wedged in between two of my side ribs. The pain sets in when she raises both arms above her head and says while balancing on the bone, “Cheese” for the invisible cameras during her gymnastics salute. She uses her chin like a pair of pliers to expand my rib cage so she can remove her head before heading to her next apparatus—a demonstration of the harp as played by a 2 year old (“I’m two and a half, my birthday is in Movembevemer!” I hear her voice in my head) as she clangs away on the iron bed frame.

By 6:30am we’re all still wide awake. I feel sick I’m so tired and not the good sick/tired like when you wake up at 4am to hop on a plane to Europe which happens…..NEVER.

A urine soaked diaper by any other name would smell as bad.

I’m going to have to get clever and send in the spider patrol to inspect the room tonight after I address some of this internal bleeding.

I’ll secretly miss the harp though.