“What’s wrong with her? Did she break something? Why is she screaming?”
That was me, last night, talking over Violet who was at the foot of our bed, wailing. It was 1:30 in the morning and I’m not sure who was more irrational, Violet or me.
After five minutes of wailing finally I understood one sentence, “I want want want, I want to go to the fair” gulp, whine, back to wailing.
In the same breath as this tiny terrorist demanded to to the fair, at 1:30 in the morning, she’s demanding a glass of water.
“What in the actual… is she screaming because she wants to go to the fair?” Jamie asked me? I barely heard him. I would have given the kid the entire contents of the top shelf of the pantry (where all the good treats are) just to have her be quiet and go back to sleep.
I jump out bed, curse when there are no glasses anywhere upstairs (which clearly now I wasn’t awake because there are two in the master bathroom). I stumbled into Olivia’s room and grabbed the bottle of water beside her bed.
Finally, she falls asleep, muttering about mini donuts and still half-crying.
I’m laying there, as angrily as one can lay when they’re trying to fall back asleep, wondering what just happened and unable to find the comfort I had twenty minutes earlier, pre first-world-I-want-go-to-the-fair nightmares three year old kids have.
“I think we waited too long. I don’t think I’m capable of being rational between 1 and 7 to have another kid” before I fell asleep.
Like I said, first world problems.