To me, the statement is pretty much self-explanatory, but just in case your mind is on a different track... Darrell snores. The baby often either starts out or winds up in our bed, sleeping between us. Make sense?
Here is a run-down of a typical night, sharing the bed with my guys:
11:42 pm: Snoring is already beginning to reach The Obnoxiously Loud Level. Awwww. Just look at him laying (laying, or lying?) there with his mouth hanging open, lips vibrating with the sound... Isn't he cute? Reach over and lovingly, patiently rub Darrell's shoulder for a second, so as not to disturb his sleep. This almost always stops the snoring... for a minute.
12:30 am: Time for what I like to call "A Gentle Love Tap." This is the first of a series. I turn to my neighbor and... Kapow. Darrell clicks his tongue at me in disgust, but stops snoring... for a minute.
1:00 am: Dear God, please make it stop. Please. Reach down with your mighty hand and hold his lips shut. I'll be nice to him for the rest of my life. Just. Make. It. Stop.
1:02 am: Sam has been brought into our bed by this time, because in between waking up with Darrell, I've been waking up with the baby.
1:11 am: Sam is thrashing and jumping at the sounds of the snores. The poor little guy is scared, so I have to say something. Have to. It's not that I want to. It's not a selfish thing... I'm doing it for my child. "GETTIN' LOUD," I say, in my not-so-nice tone, which is reserved for occasions such as these. The snoring stops... Oh, wait... No, it doesn't.
1:15 am: The Snarling Lion arrives on the scene. "For Pete's sake," I think, "How does he not hear himself?" The baby jumps out of his skin and begins to cry. CRY. I make the aforementioned comment about a wild animal, and Darrell mumbles something like, "I'll turn over." I think to myself, "Why, yes, hon, that might help. That would be lovely. What an excellent idea. It's about %*&#!$+* time." The snoring stops... for a minute.
2:23 am: I'm deep into a fantasy about Mrs. Garrett, from "The Facts of Life," walking into my bedroom with the biggest, shiniest, most beautiful roll of duct-tape I've ever seen. She gently places one piece of tape over my husband's mouth... then goes on to wrap his entire head. "It should be over in just a minute, sweetie. You get some rest now," says Mrs. Garrett. I gush, "Oh, thank you, Mrs. Garrett!" The baby smiles at her and, for the first time ever in his life, reaches out for a hug.
3:00 am: I begin The Loud Mumbling. This is where I do my best passive-aggressive work. I say things like, "Must be nice to sleep so soundly." "How does that not wake you up?" "One of us needs to start doing some serious drinking before bed." "You look ridiculous with your lips flapping like that." None of this has any affect on the snoring, but it makes me feel better for a minute, and isn't that all that really counts?
4:00 am: Jo, from "The Facts of Life" enters my bedroom. I say, "Hey, Jo. I'd forgotten about you. Is Blair with you?" Jo doesn't answer. Antisocial, that one. She just holds up the biggest, shiniest, most beautiful pistol I've ever seen. "Pretty gun," I say. Then, "Gee, I really like that leather jacket, Jo." For some reason, the baby is flopping next to me, like a fish out of water. Does my baby not like Jo? I'm afraid for a moment, because I can't really tell who Jo is aiming her gun at. Jo opens her mouth to speak and, even though her lips seem to be forming words, the only sounds coming out of her mouth are loud animal-like growls. Hmm. That's odd. What's up with Jo? Suddenly, the gun goes off, but instead of a "BANG," it just makes an obnoxious SNARLING sound. I wake up to the sounds of my snoring hub and restless, flopping baby, amazed that I slept long enough through all this activity to dream.
4:31 am: I reach up, careful to be very quiet as I giggle out loud, and pinch Darrell's lips together. He snaps his head away from me and raises his hand. I can't tell if he's trying to defend himself, or planning to attack. "Bring it," I think. "I'm ready, pal. Let's go."
4:58 am: I have to get out of here. This is torture. It's time to get up before I do or say something out of anger that I shouldn't. I SMACK Darrell one last time, just for good measure, and make sure Sam is safe and secure before going into the kitchen. I crack open a nice cold Diet Pepsi, sit down in front of the computer, and realize how incredibly tired I really am. My eyes can barely stay open.
5:41 am: I go back into the bedroom, partly because I'm stupid enough to believe I will actually get to sleep a little bit- I am beyond exhausted, after all, and partly because I know the baby will wake up soon, and I want to be there with his morning bottle before he flops himself right out of the bed.
6:02 am: Sammy is up. He's in an incredibly happy, smiley mood- as if all is right in the world. How nice for him. How nice for me. Sam can turn almost any sour mood into a good one. It's amazing how I can feel such joy towards one bed partner and such contempt for another, at exactly the same time. We lay (lay or lie?) there cuddling together as he drinks his bottle, staring and smiling at each other, listening to the
8:07 am: Darrell asks, "Was my snoring bad last night?"