Party!

Everyone loves a party!  Except at 3am.  Well, actually, there was a time when I loved a party at 3am.  They were called late-nights at our school, though I've also heard to them referred as after-hours.  Regardless of what you call them, I long ago stopped looking for a party after the bars closed.  In fact, it's been years since I closed down a bar and over six months since I've been to a bar at all. 

Last night, however, I was the unwilling attendee at a 3am party in my house.  Chester decided to throw a bash, and insisted I come with him.  He came stumbling down the hall (very reminiscent of previous 3am parties) and stood next to my bed.  I gently took his hand and guided him back to his bed, tucked him in, patted his back and left.  This was repeated 15 minutes later, 30 minutes after that, and once more at 4:15am. 

On a side note, I'd like to mention that the infamous third-trimester insomnia seems to have arrived two weeks early here.  I had little to no hope of falling back to sleep between these visits, even if Chester had actually gone back to sleep himself.  This is yet another phase of pregnancy that I despise.  Even completely exhausted, I have a tough time falling asleep at night, and waking up, even to pee (because every pregnant woman I know pees all night, don't deny it!) can bring hours of boredom staring at the ceiling fan or listening to passing cars and every squeak or sigh of the house settling. 

Back to the party last night, I heard him playing in his room until he returned to my room, quite insistent at 5:30am. At least he wasn't crying, I suppose.  After Chester returned to my room, he climbed into the laundry basket, throwing all the dirty clothes on the floor so he could use the overturned basket to climb up and stand in the window.  I can only imagine what would have happened if a police car or other mandated reporter drove past the house with a toddler standing on the windowsill waving to passing cars at 5:30am?   

I finally removed the gate to the living room and turned him loose, thanking my lucky stars that I cleaned it before going to bed so that he could have the run of the living room and playroom while I tried to reclaim any of the last 2 1/2 hours of sleep I had lost to his party antics.  He promptly rewarded me for granting his freedom by bringing me a ginormous care bear from the pile of teddy bears in the playroom.  And then the stuffed turtle.  And the stuffed Harley dog.  Finally he stumbled back to his own room and jumped on his brother at 6am. 

At this point, working on approximately four hours of sleep, I turned on an episode of Dora for the boys and set about my morning.  I served eggs and toast in the living room, unwilling to fight a battle to get them to the kitchen table.  I started a load of dishes in the dishwasher, washed and packed grapes with cheese sticks for the class snack, dressed a pre-schooler, a toddler and myself and made it out the door by 7:30am.  Though quite reminiscent of the many Friday morning classes I attended with little sleep, now ten years older, and pregnant, I'm not quite as perky after a night of little sleep.  I managed to leave for preschool on time with everyone dressed and all of our bags in the car for the day, which is an amazing feat on eight hours of sleep, let alone four. 

After we dropped off Pete, Chester and I headed for the gym.  By then, he's been awake for over 5 hours, leading me to believe he'll pitch a fit and get thrown out of playcare before my boot camp class has even started.  I arm the playcare ladies with chocolate milk, chocolate graham fishies and grapes cut in half.  Yes, I'm the Mom feeding my kid sugary snacks to keep him happy at the YMCA, judge me, I dare you.  Shocked that we made it through class, I returned to pick up Chester, only to find him fast asleep.  He looked so peaceful that if we didn't have to pick up Pete from school, I would have left him there while I curled up on some yoga mats!  Sigh.  I guess when you get up at 3am, naptime can be 10am....