When I was in the middle of a huge contraction during the labor of my first child, my husband thought he’d try and help me find my happy place. So, there I was, one hand slowly breaking the bones of his, while my other bent the metal bed rail. My face flushed and sweaty, while I tried my best to breathe: “hee, hee, ho…hee, hee, ho…hee, hee, ho” Amidst this, Dr. J began to carefully describe the streets of Venice, Italy: the music, the buildings and starry skies. This was a beautiful highlight from our honeymoon years before and he guessed that this would definitely be my happy place.

Unfortunately, all I wanted to do was scream at him to SHUT UP and STOP TALKING YOU BLATHERING IDIOT! But, of course, that wasn’t possible what with the searing pain and breathing. Finally, after the contraction passed, I was able to whimper: “Please stop talking now. My happy place is my bed at home. Now, here comes another contraction.”

Yeah, I too am surprised that I didn’t resort to physical violence. Who knew I was so strong?

My point is that when it comes to getting through labor, or any other painful situation, my happy place has always been my beloved bed. One of the perks of wintertime is that I get to haul out my heavy down comforter and sleep under its weight and warmth, sinking ever further into my feather bed.

Oh, bed, how I love thee…

I’m also what you call a night person, always been. When my babies were infants, this proved to be advantageous since I was able to stay up at night with relative ease to try and calm them. But, once my kids figured out the whole sleeping thing, then I, as a night person, got screwed.

This is because kids love to get up early. Everyday. Rain or shine. It doesn’t even matter if they went to bed at 11:00PM or if you clubbed them over the head with a heavy object.

Not that I would ever do such a thing….regularly.

As a result, I’m now forced out of my happy place each and every early morning; early meaning: I-need-to-actually-turn-on-my-light-to-freakin’-see early. Ugh.

My daughter clearly does not take after her mother. Instead, she seems to revel in the morning hours. Like clockwork, she comes bounding in, smiling and giggly, and then pulls herself up onto my happy place. Then, she begins to poke, prod, pound, and peel the covers off me.

I love my daughter more than words can say, but I’ve seriously considered selling her to a band of gypsies…or perhaps the local zoo.

At any rate, I’m at a loss as to what to do. At one point, I even considered moving the coffee maker upstairs to my night stand so that I could at least sip a cup of mommy juice joe in the face of this daily onslaught.

What once was my happy place has now been desecrated by the very beings I brought into this world. I’m sure there’s some irony in all of this, but frankly dear readers, I don’t give a damn. And the cruelest part of this tale is that until Toys R Us starts carrying toddler size shackles, there is no end in sight.

Sniff…sniff…Good bye happy place, until we meet again.
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1 Response
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