Let’s discuss how children are creepy monsters
Cooper loves sleeping in my bed. LOVES IT. However, since we have a consistent bedtime routine, he never really gives me any trouble about going to sleep in his room. Or at least, pretending to go to sleep in his room. There have been many times that I’ve been in bed watching TV, or reading, or whatever, and I’ll see a blue eye peeking through my door, trying to see if I’m asleep yet or not. That’s bad enough, but I just tell him to go to bed and get on with whatever I’m binge-watching on Hulu.
The trouble comes when he does outlast me, and I’m already asleep. If he either stays up later than me, or wakes up in the middle of the night, he knows he has me. Why? Because during the day, I have no problem being firm and sticking to a schedule. But if I’m tired enough, I don’t care about anything. Cooper not only exploits this weakness, but has turned it into an art form.
I used to wake up at every noise or movement he made, terrified that he was finding someway to injure or kill himself in the middle of the night. As he’s gotten older and more self-sufficient, I’ve begun to sleep through things. There have been many mornings where I’ve woken up and had no idea he had snuck into my room, until I’m smacked in the face by a flailing baby arm. Or I’m hanging off the side of the bed, because at 40 lbs, he manages to take up 5/6 of a queen size. I don’t always sleep through his nighttime missions though, and the other night was the creepiest one yet.
I recently hurt my knee, so I’ve been on pain pills. Luckily, Cooper was able to stay with his dad through the first few days when it was the worst, so it didn’t matter that I was completely out of it. So the first day I had Cooper back, I didn’t take anything for my knee. However, since it hurt the most while I was sleeping, I took one before going to bed, which made the experience that much worse.
So it’s probably around 1 or 2 in the morning, and I wake up to Cooper standing over me, not saying a word. I’m in that half-awake state of semi-paralysis, and all I can do is mumble for him to go back to bed. He doesn’t answer or move, so I say it a little bit clearer: “Cooper, honey, go back to bed, please.”
He takes my hand, and in a very soft voice, says, “I’m not going anywhere, Mommy.”
Needless to say, I told him it was fine, because I didn’t want to see what would happen if I said no.
Feel free to share your own creepy kid stories in the comments– we all have them. Right? RIGHT??????
I’ve woken up more than once to Charlie’s face four inches from mine, grinning like he won the lottery. It’s…unsettling.
I used to watch a friend’s son who would occasionally stop what ever he was doing and whip around to stare terrified at the same spot in the other room….what was worse is when one of thier cats would do it at the same time too.
My middle son is the creeping one. He more often than not ends up like yours, hogging more than his share of the bed. Normally he climbs in at the foot and I wake up wondering why my legs are cramped and my feet are jammed into my neck. The worst though is when he hovers.
I have had more nights then I can count where I’ll slam my eyes open in a panic only to come face to face with a shadow of a nightmare looming over me and staring in silence. That shadow of course is my four-year old, who took up the habit of watching me sleep when he moved into his big boy bed two years ago.
Of course in the end I am always relieved to find him and not an axe-murderer, but then I always wonder…
B has always been creepy.
She used to tell us randomly what her grandparents were doing in other states…and was correct.
One of the worst was when she was 4. Our elderly cat had wandered away, then reappeared looking very thin with That Look that says, “my spring is winding down. RIGHT NOW.” We agreed that she had to go to the vet the next morning. Pixie was waiting in the kitchen like “TAKE ME TO THE VET WHY ARE YOU WAITING?!” I’m trying not to sob too much. I tell B to come over and give Pixie loves because she is “not feeling well and needs to go see the kitty doctor.” She did. Todd took her to the vet. About half an hour later, while she was watching Nick Jr and eating breakfast, and otherwise engaged. She turned to me and said, “Mama, Pixie died.” I looked at the clock. When Todd got home, sure enough, it was at the EXACT TIME she did.
I’ve considered having her fill out some lottery blanks.