Becoming an old person has brought about many unexpected changes, thankfully not incontinence at this point, but I realize it’s only a matter of time. The new change I find most intriguing is the onset of superhero caliber senses. Of all the things I’d expected from aging – receding gums, hot flashes, saggy boobies- heightened senses was not on the list. Suddenly, I’ve transitioned from being capable of sleeping through a light earthquake (true story) to waking abruptly with the slightest shift of the sheets. (While it hasn’t led to divorce court thus far, I fear that should the Turk ever take up the habit of mouth breathing, doom is inevitable and CSI should probably swab the garbage disposal for DNA -just a suggestion.) My new super-sonic hearing allows me to hear a bird chirping three blocks away, resulting in hours of trying to recapture sleep. The resulting sleep deprivation is less than desirable, but as the elderly are wont to do, I am searching out the positives. For example, I accept that the bags under my eyes bring out the deep black of my pupils in a stunning fashion and the sluggish pace at which I currently travel makes it easier for the Midget and his 12 inch legs to keep up.
There are other potential positives surrounding my other new Spidey-senses as well. Should we fall victim to a home invasion perpetrated by a maniac hiding in the corn fields surrounding our little hub of 2000, I will be singlehandedly able to save us with my newly acquired razor-sharp-middle-of-the-night-ninja-reflexes and nocturnal Wonder Woman strength long before the Turk even realizes I’ve left the bed (insert visual here – chubby lady in pink flannel jammies executing ninja move, hi-yaw!). Aside from my mad ninja reflexes, I’ve also developed super-human nighttime hearing and more recently, an intense sense of sleep smelling. Yes, sleep smelling. Last week I was awakened every hour by a less-than-desirable stench originating from beneath some Lightening McQueen jammies after an evening in which dinner consisted primarily of legumes. Rancid.
Last night, it was my new keen senses that alerted me to imminent doom while the Turks slumbered soundly. It went down like this: somewhere in the 3:00 hour, my eyes sprang open like a cartoon cat upon identification of a smell emanating from my right. Utilizing my superhero skills, I investigated the scene, only to be met with a warm puddle filling the space between the Turk and me, and atop the puddle was a snoozing Midget.
A little back-story –around month number 2 in our life with the Midget we surrendered to all things conventional in parenting, for ours was a child who never slept. He seldom napped in the day and he rarely slept at night. In a fit of desperation and after heavy research on a multitude of hippie-mama websites, (I do believe there are now more hippie-mama websites out there than porn- it’s just that bad.) Again and again, the great hairy-legged mothers of the world spoke of a concept called co-sleeping. Reserve your judgments, motherhood brings about desperation. Could a full night’s sleep really be as easy as offering up a seat at the all night boobie bar? Yes, yes it was. The Midget moved in and has basically been there ever since.
He went through boobie rehab a couple years ago and with some struggle, he was able to get the D-cup monkey off his back. But hard as he tries, the Midget just can’t kick the midnight cuddle habit. His own room was simply out of the question. “Mom, why I need my own room when I sweep with you guys?” So instead we gave him his own bed within our bedroom. The first few nights we thought we’d made bedtime magic (not that, dirty mind!)- only two of us in bed for the first time in close to four years. But success was short-lived for soon, we’d awake to find a tiny little Turk snuggled between us, neither of us with any knowledge of how or when he got there. And it has continued, every night, the Midget stealthily makes his way from his bed to the comfortable confides of ours without as much as a peep. While the Turk believes the Midget’s motives to be completely innocent, I disagree. I know this child well. It is my belief that The Midget’s nighttime antics serve no other purpose than to forever secure his spot as an only child. So far so good little tiger.
Last night, it was after the Midget ninja-ed his way into his favorite spot that sleepy-time comfort truly set in and the sweet release came, flooding his dear mother in a puddle of wee. My new reflexes were good but not enough to save me completely. As I leapt from the bed I immediately learned that while I was covered in wee, the little Turk was barely wet and the big Turk avoided every drop. Using my newly attained super powers, I was able to undress and redress the lower half of the Midget as well as unmake and remake the bed without waking either of them. Why so important not to wake the slumbering Turks? Last time this occurred the big Turk found it necessary to turn on every light in the house, while complaining at full volume through the entire clean-up process resulting in a Midget that went from sound asleep to fully awake and ready for the day at 4:00am. Unable to deal with another of those episodes, I knew the only choice was to use my ninja moves and Wonder Woman muscles to clean up the crime scene without waking either.
Of course my nocturnal work-out, coupled with my overwhelming sense of pride and then that nasty stench of wee following me, meant that now I was the one wide awake and ready for the day at 4:00am. Oh well, at least I had time to catch up on my new bird noise identification hobby.