The other night, at about 3 am, I am trying to understand why my 5 1/2 month-old twins only sleep for two to three hour stretches at night. And I dread having to sleep train them because as a mother I find the process completely tortuous.
“Sleep Training” or “Crying It Out” or “Blaring the Television to Muffle the Cries as You Drink Wine and Pray for Your Infant to Sleep” (however you refer to it) worked brilliantly with Dylan.
And not one tiny bit with Summer.
So that leaves me perplexed as to how to proceed with the twins.
I’m thinking about all this in the middle of the night while I nurse Harlowe or maybe it’s Chase or maybe both of them (who can really keep track) and I hear this chirp.
And then again.
And yet again.
Oh bloody hell. In my groggy state, I finally deduce that it’s the battery to the smoke alarm. So I get up, find the step ladder and proceed to open up the alarm and take out the battery.
And then the alarm company calls. Apparently, our smoke alarms are hooked up to our alarm system. I can’t even begin to contemplate this because I hear it again.
Another chirp. How can the alarm be chirping if I already took out the battery? So either I’m in an episode of “Modern Family” or there is something seriously crazy going on here.
And then I hear crying.
Rick decides to search for the source of the chirping while I tend to Chase or Harlowe or maybe both of them. And thank you God for my smart husband because he realizes that it’s coming from the carbon monoxide detector that is plugged into the wall.
Why is the carbon monoxide detector going off?
We call the fire department and they tell us to vacate the house.
Oh mother of cheesus.
So we wake up all four kids, put their jackets on and coral them downstairs when the fire department arrives. Ordinarily I would be quite interested in young firemen arriving at my home but…
1. Its 3:30 am.
2. I don’t have my contacts in so I can’t tell if they’re hot or not.
3. No one will let me back upstairs to get my glasses.
4. I don’t have the nerve to ask my husband if they’re hot.
The hot or maybe not so hot firemen check out the carbon monoxide detector and one of them tells us, “The battery just needs to be replaced.”
“Battery? What battery? We plug it into the wall.”
“Yes, but it has a back-up battery and that needs to be replaced.”
So we truck upstairs and tuck everyone back into bed. Well, not the firefighters. They return to the station. And not the twins. Because all this excitement has really whet their appetite.
And there I am again, nursing the twins and wondering how I am ever going to get them sleeping through the night.
mama bird notes:
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