Not having any desire to deal with the resultant mess, I took a cleaned and re-jammied child into my bed for the rest of the night (lovely Hubband put the sheets in the wash).
The two hours that followed can only be described as a beat-down. It was like a tiny death-match. Flailing limbs, arms, legs, noggin rained down upon me like the tiny crashing waves of fury. Sprout would roll over, and his arm, flung with sleepy abandon, would crack like a whip into the back of my skull. Two tiny three-inch feet, thrust in slumbering unison with contradictory velocity directly into my unsuspecting kidneys. At one point he actually head-butt (head-butted?) me directly on the bridge of the nose. I have no idea what made him so active but he would not. fall. asleep.
I tried a number of times to politely request that he desist with his abuse. Calm, quiet, monotone mommy:
Silently, I would clutch the pillow and will myself to sleep. I had had a long day at work. One more long day loomed, with clients, and issues, and divorces and legallegallegal words. The green numbers glowingly mocked me as they slid past on their inexorable march toward infinity. I was a zombie. I was going to be a zombie. All I wanted to do was SLEEP.
"Buddy, I'm going to need you to lay more still, okay?"
"Hey, stop flailing around so much, okay Bug?"
"Sweetie, it makes mommy's kidneys hurt when you kick her like that, m'kay?"
The third kidney-punch in one night was apparently too much for my fragile sleep-deprived psyche. I rolled over:
"SPROUT YOU WILL STOP MOVING AROUND RIGHT NOW OR YOU ARE GOING TO BE IN BIG TROUBLE MISTER. RIGHT NOW. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"
His big, brown doe eyes opened wide and the cutest, softest smallest voice ever responded:
And that is why I am the Worst Person in the World."yes."