The girls are now in the other room with their mother, who is trying to get them to fall asleep. Every few moments, Rachel stirs from near slumber and shrieks, “I can’t sleep! I want to play!” It is a harsh sound, filled with anger and pain, like a knife blade jabbed in your back. Meanwhile, her sister babbles happily, not at all close to falling asleep.

No, I really am not going to get any rest tonight.

It happens like this often. We go to bed about midnight, and one or both of the girls wakes up shortly thereafter, screaming bloody murder. The only thing that calms them down is coming into the living room and turning on the television. After that, they’re wide awake, and won’t be asleep again until 4:30 - 5:00 am. But the crying stops, which does our neighbors a serious favor, even if it ensures that we’ll never sleep.

So I’m looking at maybe not quite two hours of sleep tonight. I don’t know how I’m going to function at work tomorrow. I don’t know when I’m going to sleep again.

A long time ago, I held onto the fragile belief that this gets easier over time, but it doesn’t. It gets harder. And harder and harder.

It’s times like these, when I wonder what it must be like to be in normal family, with kids who sleep the night.  Do such families exist?   You have to wonder.