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For some God forsaken reason, Lucy has been beckoning me in middle of the night. Like Romeo outside of my window, except she’s a toddler inside her room down the hall. Far less exciting.

And she’s casual about it too. Like someone who found themselves in a bit of a pickle and wondering if someone, anyone, could kindly bring some toilet paper to the main hall powder room?

At a delightful 3:45 AM, while I was in the depths of a good RomCom I was starring in with a 1990s Jason Preistley, she summoned me to her room to casually mention that “the sun was here” – when in fact, the sun was not here – it was our neighbor’s flood light on the side of their house.

Another time, I bolted awake at 2:47 PM to a very distant and light hearted, “Hey Mommy?” as if she was thinking about an episode of Sesame Street she had just watched and was now wondering what ever happened to that miniature Elmo figurine she found buried under the swings that one time.

But it wasn’t Elmo on her mind. Her blanket needed adjusting. She can scale a wall to get to the iPad I’ve hidden on the ceiling fan, but she can’t make slight adjustments to her top sheet? 

By the fourth night when her sweet voice fluttered down the hall saying,  “Mommy?” I bellowed, “SHE’S NOT HERE!”

It worked for about 3 minutes, probably because she was processing.

The coffee isn’t even touching my delirium. All I have left is crack and honestly, I’m not even sure how to get crack and I’m too tired to Google it.

Anyway, my point is – Whitney Houston said children are our future, and she’s right. But she failed to mention it’s because all the parents are passed on the couch.

The are stupid cute though, so I guess they have that going for them.