There's not a lot I hate about raising a child. Diapers? No problem. (Yeah, I can say that now that I don't have to buy them. HA!) Thirty-three hours straight of The Little Mermaid? Only if I'm allowed to sing along or mock it, then bring it on. The constant ambushing of love that results in black and blue splotches all over my upper body? Aside of the audible "Oomph!" I often release when the impact happens, I can take it in stride. (Although, Sprite? Think of Mommy as a peach. Sure, I might feel all soft and even pliable in some places, but I DO bruise!)

But there are some things, LITTLE things, mind you, that slowly but surely chip away at my stoic resolve to not use my angry voice.

I hate sleeping with my kid.

I admit it. I wanted a co-sleeping arrangement when Sprite was a baby. I wanted to be able to snuggle with John and our little one early in the morning, all of us warm underneath a down blanket while still floating between the REM world and reality, mustering up our collective courage to face the new day together. I wanted to be able to cradle her after a bad dream and sneak her into our bed for soothing quiet times and loving sighs of contentment where she would feel safe. I wanted at least a little bit of what other parents often dread when they CAN'T get the toddler out of their bed.

Now, I am SO glad I wasn't gung-ho on attachment parenting. The few times I have had to share a bed with Sprite, I have been subjected to numerous beatdowns all within the span of a few hours, hours she was supposed to be asleep. The time we stayed on Marco Island, it was the three of us in one king size bed. Space wasn't an issue, but Sprite decided that first night that she wanted to cuddle with me. And cuddling with me meant her right foot was naturally supposed to insert itself into my mouth. Because this made her laugh. I didn't get any sleep that night, so the next night, because I'm mean, I shoved her over to share some space with her father. John was NOT my friend when daylight came.
I made sure to remind John (about 500 times) that we wanted TWO beds for our trip to Disney World. He called and verified that we would have two. I smiled, knowing we had bested her at her own game.

Irony hates me. Or at least likes to laugh at me. Often.

We arrived at our hotel and discovered that, yes, we did have two beds. Two full size beds. John and I sleep on a queen because we like the space. This would be tight. That first night, John and Sprite fell asleep on their respective beds and I stayed up, organizing our things for the next morning. (You want to go on vacation with me. I am the supreme ruler of Nothing Forgotten And Everything Packed Into A Convenient Backpack That Weighs Less Than The Kid.) As I wound down to take my own spot in our cramped bed, (I sure as hell didn't want to bunk with the kid, knowing I would turn into her own personal jungle gym) I looked over and saw she was moving about her turf restlessly. Sigh. Obviously, her down time needed supervision. Giving up my 8 hours, I blocked one exit with pillows and the other exit with myself, keeping one hand loosely resting on her back so I would know if she were going over Serta's cliff.

1:30AM- Still entrapped in my own imagination, I could feel her slipping away from me. From my prone position, I reached out with my left arm and grabbed her ankle as she plummeted headfirst off the bed, somehow pulling her back up and onto the mattress before I resettled the pillow brigade and tried to return to my own slumber after saving my daughter from a concussion. (You're WELCOME, Sprite.)

2 AM- "Mommy, are you SLEEPING?" Her voice sliced juicily into my ear as her fingers pried my eyelids.

"Yes," I replied, "and you should be too."

She giggled and snuggled into my front. I started to slip into unconsciousness again, only halted, feeling a sense of foreboding...then "Ugh! Sprite!"

Her knee had lodged into my abdomen from standing on the bed and diving onto me. If I had been pregnant, there would have been issues. (I know, reading this, now I'M rather surprised I want another one.) (No, not pregnant. Thanks for asking.)

I told John the next morning that it was HIS turn to swim with our sleeping shark this night since I had already been bitten too often, but remembering how she had come close a few times from falling off the rather high bed and a rather long internal battle with myself over my issues of control and making sure the kid didn't get hurt, I took one for the team (and demanded the next few nights off) (and got 'em) and laid down with her once more to battle my bedtime beast.

"Mommy, you sleep with me, o-KAY? Alright, Mommy?"

I smiled and yawned. "Yes, but we must sleep. No jumping or hurting Mommy." (PLEASE..)

"Okay, Mommy."

I got comfortable and laid my head on my pillow, watching her as she made her own space. Sprite pushed her pillow up slightly on the bed, sat back and observed it, reaching out every other second to smooth here, ruffle there until she was happy with the pillow's position. Then she counted to three and pounced. Literally. She pounced onto her pillow, her tushy going airborne as she wiggled her limbs underneath her and sighed, "Cover me, Mommy."

Smiling, I obliged, slipping the blanket up to keep her warm, and thought, Maybe this isn't ALL bad.

2 AM- "Ow! SPRITE!"

I take it back.

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Take a moment and read these brave Spinners' confessions!

You KNOW you can relate..

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Next Week's Assignment: Free Spin!

Yeah, it sounds like a cop out, but next Friday is Sprite's birthday! We've recently done anniversaries and birthdays and I can't think of any other way to connect a Spin to the post I KNOW will be centered around my three year old. (Gasp! Three? NOOOOO!)

So, because I love you all, I'm giving you the chance to Spin up WHATEVER you want to Spin about! Just attach the words "Spin Cycle" to it, send me the link, and it counts! How easy could that be?

Easy. 

You're welcome. 

See you next week on the Spin Cycle! (I'll save you a cupcake...)
 

Amy, this goes out to you.

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"I want A cheesestick!"

"Okay, I have Mickey Mouse cheese slices. Do you want those?" (Sold at Walmart. By Sargento. Cheaper than cheese cubes by Kraft. Heaven to a Disney loving toddler.) (I just realized that sounded like an ad. Nope, not paid for it. Just really happy to spend less money on making the kid happy at snack time.)

"Yes! And Clacklers" (crackers)

"You got it."

"In a cup!"

"Okay, in a- wait, what?" I peered over the open refrigerator door to where Sprite was sitting (wrongly) on the couch, peering back over to me from her (wrong) position. 

"In a cup, cheese and clacklers, please." She smiled, proud to remember her manners.  (Which still needs reminders most of the time.)

She asked for a cup. A cup.

What happened to "noah"?

Ever since Sprite was able to assign labels to objects, any cup has been called a "noah". We've never been able to relate the term to anything tangible and I've even turned to you all for help on this site when the restrictions of my own mind stopped offering solutions to the puzzle.

As I assembled her snack, I realized it HAD been a while since I had heard the term "noah" used. While she is almost three, she still uses some "toddlerese" or "Sprite Talk" for certain things, although "noah" was her most notorious.

In fact, in the last few months, her vocabulary and speech patterns have changed drastically. John and I used to stand as the official interpretors of Sprite's World, but our position is more of a honorary title these days. Where her demands centered around a noun awash in a sea of jibber-jabber, she now adds verbs and adjectives. Sure, she's still a grammar teacher's nightmare, but at least the grammar teacher would now know what to correct, not just stand there and look to me for a general direction. 

She really surprised us when we were buckling her into her car seat to end our Halloween night. After enjoying herself immensely, she called out to her best friend who was being strapped into her own car seat in the parking spot next to us. "Bye bye, Kayla! See you next Monday!" 

John and I looked at each other in shock and asked "Did you tell her to say that?" in unison as Kayla's mom called over incredulously, "What did she just say?"

No one had prompted it. She just said it. 

I'm not sure where she stands in the spectrum of speech, if she's ahead or behind. I hope she's average since being behind would bring on a whole nother slew of worries (over my already overflowing cup of concern) and being ahead means I have to bone up on my rebuttals sooner for when she comes at me with a new scheme.

John says her leaps in la language are because I talk to her like an adult. (Sometimes. I'm as guilty as others for getting "pitchy" when I'm trying to drum up excitement about taking a nap or going to bed.) I would have to say it's more due to her day care. The majority of kids in her class speak this way, which is why I tend to drop Sprite's verbal talents into the average category. (Which I'm more than okay with.) 

Still, with her changes in height, weight, and volume (Yup, that goes up too..), she's abandoning the last remnants of the toddler days in preparation for the preschooler phase. 

I always thought I would be ecstatic when she stopped saying "noah", knowing she was ready to join Webster's Approved World of Words. I wouldn't miss the words like "noah", "batty" (butterfly), and "Sleeping Doody".

I was wrong.