“Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light.” ~Helen Keller
I never had much fear of the dark. No love affair, mind you, but no real fear. Well, there was the night after I saw The Exorcist when in high school and stayed up all night because I was not going to close my eyes. And the night a couple of years ago that some unknown animal fell through the skylight in my kitchen and I heard it over the monitor in my daughter’s room … walking around mostly naked, armed, and drowsy is not good. But other than those two nights, no problem.
Until now. No, I do not fear earwigs but after reading this post, I sure don’t want to meet any Canadian earwigs … go read the post and have a good laugh or a sympathetic cry!
Two nights in a row something is happening just after bedtime. The day and evening go great, my daughter is happy and all seems fine. I get her ready for bed, no problem. Then about twenty minutes later she is still awake, very strange. Then she starts to complain, not a lot, but not happy. Not crying, just, well, complaining in that non-communicative way she has.
Motrin does nothing, nor does antacid. I can’t find a source of pain or discomfort. After two or so hours I try valium, we use if for her mittelschmerz or pms sometimes. Nothing.
Then, after close to four hours, a seizure comes on. Bizarrely, THAT we can deal with.
I fear the dark tonight.
Ugh — I know that all too well.
I hope the night is peaceful, and if not, think of us, thinking of you.
Yessir…You could have called me last night…could’ve had a nice chit chat whilst our daughters fussed in the background (oh an the night before too…and before that, but, that would’ve interrupted the earwig’s moment, and of course, as a Canadian, I wouldn’t want to be rude…I hope this passes and you get some sleep. Good luck.
Hey Single Dad,
Been reading your blog for a bit now and just had to comment. My lanky, diapered 11-year-old falls asleep in my arms almost every night. I carry him awkwardly to his bed, tuck him in, and return to the living room for some tv or quiet time. Inevitably, sometimes sooner, sometimes later, I hear the high-pitched whine of a boy who is going through god-knows-what but needs me, now. I sigh, take a few breaths, take a sip of water and make my way to his (our) bedroom, completely defeated after hoping upon hope that tonight he would finally sleep through.
I totally get it.