Madison sleeps about as well as a raccoon on caffeine. She hates going to bed and it's a rare night when we don't wake up to find her in our bed, attached to Heather's back like a dorsal fin.
Worse, she has taken to thinking of me as some kind of monster. When I notice she is awake and go into her room at night to try to keep her there, she belts out blood-curdling screams like I was a humpbacked bell-ringer with leprosy. I retreat from her room back to my belfry, reduced and belittled.
Not the welcome I would hope for actually. Please let this be a phase.
2 comments:
It's usually my place to write about Quasimodo, but go ahead if you want. His look is the only thing monstrous about him. In my book, he was the greatest wingman of all time. Maybe that why I relate to him.
It's obviously just the night. Anyone who calls you "Miss Daddy" by daylight can't be too terrified.
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