The Bee is up to his usual wakings these nights. He wakes every two hours. The only progress we have made in that front is that now when I bring him into our bed he doesn't kick and scream for the boob.
Oh thy cranky Bee,
why can't you see?
Thee needs nothing but sleep.
Tis only two, tis only three, tis only six,
but thou just sends out kicks.
You cry and scream to be free,
and in the process awaken thee.
You roll over and throw that little arm around my neck
hogging my pillow and pushing me to the edge.
The gesture is oh so sweet,
but can't you see you've got me beat.
You render me motionless from my head to my thighs,
and I lay still for fear that you might rise.
Big Brother who must compete,
has crawled into bed near my feet.
Because not long after you, he begins to scream, too.
For your screams make him ill oh too soon.
Big brother who will request drinks and potty breaks.
Big Brother who is afraid of monsters, the dark, and snakes.
Oh why won't they just be afraid of me?
Because, maybe just then,
will I sleep.
* Please excuse my lousy poetry skills in advance, since my only knowledge about poetry was acquired in elementary school and it has since been forgotten. This post didn't start out as a poem but it just naturally transformed into one (or at least as an impostor of one) and has undergone many MANY changes and may undergo many more.