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A mother of the year’s (scary) nighttime confession

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In preparation for a Halloween party last Friday, I trolled music videos on YouTube. I found many classics like Monster Mash and Ghostbusters but the king of them all is, of course, Michael Jackson’s Thriller. 

My kids gathered around my computer. My 10-year-old Hadley was so engrossed she watched it twice while 8-year-old Bode was nervous but I wasn’t worried. Though he’s never seen a horror movie, he has no problems with Lord of the Rings and that’s way scarier, right?

Wrong.

Here’s how our evening played out.

9:40 p.m. I passed out early from exhaustion.

10:30 p.m. Daughter wake-up call.

Her: “Mom, Bode is crying.”
Me: “Why are you awake?!” (She had just recovered from a two-week stint with enterovirus-turned-pneumonia.)
Her: “I’m not tired.”
Me: “GET TO BED, NOW.”

10:31 p.m. Trudge to Bode’s room. He’s still asleep but obviously freaked out and crying. Soothingly hug and pat his back, whispering “it’s only a dream.” He quiets down.

11:05 p.m. He starts crying again. Mother of the Year lovingly calms him. At least The Daughter is finally asleep.

Midnight-ish Crying con’t. Maybe if I pretend he’s not crying, he’ll stop. Negative.

12:15 a.m. Bring him into my bed. Snuggle him tight as he falls into a feverish, Thriller-induced slumber.

12:20-1:55 a.m. Every 10-15 minutes, he cries out then goes back to sleep.

2 a.m. More crying, more soothing. Resolve I’m too old for this. How do women in the 40s handle newborn all-nighters?

2:15 a.m. He starts kicking me in his sleep. Gently move him away.

2:25 a.m. Fat Kitty abandons us, citing “at least one of us needs to get some sleep.”

2:30 a.m. After yet another shout-out, I am DONE. I scoop him up in his arms and carry him to his bed. Close the door.

2:33 a.m.-6:20 a.m. I finally get some sleep.

7 a.m.  Bode wake-up.

“How are you feeling today? Do you remember your bad dreams?”
“No, not really. But how did I get into your bed last night?”

He was his usual chipper self while I looked like the walking dead the rest of the day.thrillerNow, I finally get why “Thriller” is scary.

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