Good night. Sleep tight. And I don’t really give a shit if the bedbugs bite.

I can understand when one of my kids wakes me up at midnight because she had a bad dream.

And I can understand when the 3-year-old calls me to her room at 1:00 a.m. because she really needs to go potty.

When my husband wants me to check on the baby because he thinks she is breathing faster than usual, well, at this point I’m getting annoyed.  But I checked, and she was fine.

So when the 7-year-old wakes me up crying?

Because he’s in pain?

From a huge wad of gum?

Which melted?

In his fucking armpit?

Well, that just pisses me off.

He’s not even allowed to chew gum.

So, at 2:30 a.m. when he was freaking out because his arm was superglued to his body, he didn’t get much sympathy.

And I didn’t get much sleep.

I wanna sleep at someone else’s house tonight.

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