I'm Leaving and Not Coming Back!

"I'm leaving! I'll come back when SHE is gone!"

It sounds like something a woman would say, doesn't it? Perhaps a statement made by a jealous lover to her beau in order to force him to rid himself of an unwanted rival by means of force and manipulation?

This is not the case. Nothing is ever "normal" or "the usual" here in my world. I believe we would all die of shock if "normal" happened here.

Around 1:00 AM, my husband leapt from the bed and exclaimed the above statement loud enough to ensure that I would awaken. Then he grabbed his pillow and a blanket and huffed from the room. I think he was secretly hoping that I would follow him to find out what all the drama was about.

After a few minutes of laying in bed and laughing to myself at his uproar, I decided that I would follow him after all. I didn't follow him to beg him to return to our bed. No, that would be too easy. I followed him to incur a bit of relentless teasing. He always claims that the drama in the family is owned solely by my side. He claims that he has never had a moment of drama in his life. This was my one chance to point out to him that he is, in fact, dripping with drama.

You may be wondering exactly what was going on in our bed. What "she" did I have hidden amongst our covers that caused him to be so frustrated. I bet your mind is filled with visions of a jealous lover insisting that his wife's girlfriend be gone. That isn't the case, of course, but there was a girl in our bed causing a great deal of chaos. My husband, being the recipient of several punches and kicks, decided that he was done being her punching bag.

This girl of which I speak - Marisa. She's almost 3 years old. She loves to sleep in bed with Mommy, but not Daddy. Marisa's sole purpose during the night is to evict Daddy from the bed.

Last night she succeeded.

Granted, he has been begging me to evict Marisa from our bed for a few months now. I try, but she often finds her way back or insists on not sleeping unless I snuggle up with her. This is the fallout from co-sleeping that we willingly accepted in the beginning. (Okay - "I" willingly accepted! My husband never really got much of a say in the matter because I never asked him what his thoughts were on having little people sleep in our bed.)

Marisa likes to move around a lot at night. She gets this floppy nature from her Daddy, and yet he can't seem to tolerate her flopping around at night. I tried to explain to him that the reason he has such a hard time with "her" flopping is because "he" likes to flop, too. With her in the bed, he has little room for flopping. He never likes that explanation.

The real issue, though, is that Marisa likes to touch. She is constantly moving at night and putting a hand or foot on him. Her feet regularly end up at his head. She rubs his back at night while she's sleeping and this irritates him because her touch is so soft and gentle that it tickles. Sometimes she tries to wedge her feet under his legs, scratching him in the process with toenails that are always too sharp.

I walked to Marisa's bedroom where my husband had retreated in not-so-silent defeat. In whispered tones I said to him:

"You know, you could have just asked me to move her. I would've moved her to the living room. It wasn't necessary to have a dramatic outburst."

His response: "Harumph."

My reply: "And you said the drama came from my side of the family. I'm beginning to think that they aren't the only ones with drama in their genes."

His response: "Quit picking on me." A few seconds later, "I'll come back to bed if you move HER."

I - giggling all the way - go to our room and gently relocate the little deviant so that my husband can feel like he has won some sort of battle.

When he returned to the bed, we had a discussion on his behavior and just how darn funny it is for him to be having temper tantrums in the middle of the night. After about 20 minutes or so, I drifted off to sleep.

You probably think the story ends there, don't you!

It doesn't! Remember - normal does not exist here.

Some time later, I have no idea when, little feet came creeping into our room. An upset little voice was crying because she couldn't find her pacifier in the dark. She crawled up in the bed on my side and curled up against me while Daddy - ever the hero - went to locate her little precious. She, of course, refused to grace him with a "Thank You" for his efforts when he returned with her precious pacifier. She simply curled up against me and snuggled right up. You see, Daddy is Chopped Liver. He must always remember his "place" in her world.