A Momologue by Jackie: Pulling an "all nighter" isn't what it used to be.

Jackie writes: It’s midnight. A day with sick kids is finally over. The pillow feels like a long lost love. No more runny noses, whining and tiny people with big demands. Those now-perfect little beings look like angels tucked away in their beds. The house is silent.
Ten minutes later... What’s that noise? It starts with a little whimper.

“The baby’s just dreaming.”
The whimper turns to fussing.
“He’ll settle in a minute.”
But deep down inside the mommy gut,
we all know it’s coming...

WAAAAAAAAAH!

Damn it. Is it too much to ask for a little bit of sleep here?
This was the very moment MY sleepless night began. And by the end of it, I realized that those who experience nights like these are strangely similar to those dealing with a loss in their lives. And I, too, was about to go through the five stages of “grief”…

DENIAL: Midnight – 12:15 a.m.
I hear the crying. I know it’s getting louder. I know it’s not going to stop. But I just won’t admit it. I still have myself convinced that I can remain in my warm bed ‘til morning.

ANGER: 12:30 – 2:00 a.m.
What the hell?! Why can’t he just GO TO SLEEP? I get out of my bed, throw on a bathrobe and stumble into his room. His rosy cheeks and tears streaming should soften me, but I can’t help but be mad at him. Is it his mission to make me miserable?

BARGAINING: 2:00 – 3:30 a.m.
I rock him in the chair. “Please, sweet baby… if you just go to sleep, I will be the best mommy in the world. Please close your eyes. We can go to Toys R Us and get you a surprise. Wouldn’t you like that?”

DEPRESSION: 3:30 -4:15 a.m.
“I am NEVER getting to bed. I’m going to be useless tomorrow. I am not cut out for this. Why did I think I could be a good mother? What is wrong with him? Why can’t I figure it out and get him to sleep? What’s wrong with ME?”

ACCEPTANCE: 4:15 – 5:30 a.m.
Bob the Builder lights up the otherwise dark living room. My little multi-tasker doesn’t miss a second of the show while simultaneously moving from toy to toy. I’ve given in, and he is happy. I am now at peace with the knowledge that I am not going to bed tonight. I scoop up my little man and sit him next to me on the couch and pull out my laptop to get some work done. I love my little man. I would spend a hundred sleepless nights with him if I had to. I just want him to be healthy and safe and happy. I can do this. I am a good mother. I gaze down at my sweet boy resting his head on the arm of the chair. His big, brown eyes are closed. That little muffin is asleep.