Last Updated on January 10, 2021 by World’s Okayest Mom
Yes. You read that correctly. I think – I must admit that I’m not sure – that My Girl has been binge watching Game of Thrones with The Husband and I.
And if you aren’t a fan of Jon Snow and Khaleesi, let me just give you a small tidbit of some of the scenes it contains: The Mountain (appropriately named) literally squeezes the brains out of poor Oberyn Martel; a 10-year-old boy is pushed out a tower window after accidentally witnessing some brother on sister action; a father is beheaded in front of his daughters; and let’s not forget the Red Wedding (which, I don’t even need to explain as you can surmise from the name). Yes. Grade A parenting skills right there.
A False Sense of Security
But let me explain.
My Girl lured The Husband and I into a false sense of security. So really, this is all her fault.
At four weeks old, My Girl was sleeping all through the night. I used to love to brag about that.
At age two, when we made the transition to a “big girl bed”, we had no sleepless night. No getting out of bed; no need to put a child lock on her door to hold her captive; no disruptions to our sleep. I used to brag about that too.
Now I know what happens to braggarts. Something about eating their words.
A Real Sense of Desperation
From age four-ish on, those non-disruptive nights became something of the past. I shouldn’t complain too much, because it could always be worse. Right?
Could always be worse (that’s the mantra I repeat to myself).
But My Girl has a terrible habit of getting up around 2 a.m., going to the bathroom, then creepily coming into our room.
Her end game is just to have me put her back to bed and lay down with her for a few minutes. Which usually happens. I know – trust me, I know – that if I stopped getting up and laying down with her, she would probably stop. But let me tell you why I do this. It’s twofold.
- Typical mushy mom reason. This won’t happen forever. As much as I wish for a full night of uninterrupted sleep, there will be plenty of nights and years for that after My Girls grows out of snuggles. (Though, we have a deal. She promises to never be too big for snuggles. I think I’m supposed to buy her a unicorn though to seal the deal…) These late-night sessions of puzzle piece (what we call snuggle time because she fits in my arms perfectly, like a puzzle piece) have an expiration date. I’m not really eager for it to approach.
- Reason number two is probably the more pressing issue though. In the middle of the night, I’m a little scared of My Girl so in a half-sleep state, I do whatever she says. That’s not because she throws an early dawn fit or anything normal like that. It’s because she creeps the hell out of me.
Imagine this: deep sleep, slow creak of the opening door, near silent footsteps approaching the bed, dark eyes boring into your sleeping form, and raspy breathing. Now let’s take it a little further. Imagine opening your eyes and staring at you intently is the little girl who clawed herself out of the well, climbed through your TV screen, over the open case of The Ring and into your bedroom.
That was a reference of the horror flick The Ring. I’m spelling it out clearly for my mom who will have no idea what I’m talking about when she reads this. And if you also didn’t catch the pop culture reference, stop reading now and look up the image of The Ring girl. The caption should say My Girl at 2 a.m. I’ll even you help you.)
Now we’re all on the same page. That’s exactly what My Girl looks like in the middle of the night. Long night gown, because even at night she needs to be “fancy,” white blankie hanging in front of her to give her even more of an aura of creepiness, and long, ratted dark hair hanging in front of her face. I cut to in a short bob a couple of months ago for this sole reason. When you wake up to Death in Girl Form facing you, you do as it says.
Nighttime Ice Cream Runs
Bear with me. I’m getting back to GoT.
So The Husband and I have been aware that My Girl does not do well with staying in bed anymore. We didn’t realize how bad the situation was until she had her first sleepover with Jane. The morning after the sleepover, during breakfast My Girl and Jane were unabashedly telling me their intentions for the previous night.
They had waited until The Husband and I went to sleep. Then they were going to get up and eat ice cream all night long. You have to love and appreciate their honesty. Luckily, Jane is a bit of a scaredy cat and decided she couldn’t do it.
Thank you, Child! We’re keeping you around because My Girl needs a positive influence, apparently.
Also, you have to love their plan. Don’t we all want to get up and eat ice cream in the middle of the night?
A few weeks later, we realized that My Girl doesn’t need to be urged on to midnight travels by anyone. One Saturday night, while My Girl was (supposedly) sleeping and The Husband was working in the garage, I watched Hocus Pocus (as any well-respected, 30-something year old does when she’s by herself. I made it more adulty with a glass of Malbec).
The next day, My Girl put on an “original” play for The Husband and me. A few minutes into it, we realized that it was suspiciously a lot like the plot of Hocus Pocus. Finally, we asked her if she had watched the movie the night before.
My Girl: “Just a little bit. I saw the part when the boy woke up the witches and then they woke up the zombie. But in the end the zombie wasn’t bad. He yelled at the mean witch and helped save the girl by putting her into an empty grave.”
Me: “That was the entire movie!”
My mind is reeling. How did she watch that? How often does she do that? And, Lord help us, what else has she seen?
My Girl, with no shame (NO SHAME, I tell you), went on to demonstrate how she used to sneak down the stairs, halfway, and watch the TV. But she realized The Husband could see her from where he sits in the recliner.
So now she will lay down (right here, she pointed) in the hallway, look through the bannister and see almost the entire TV screen.
But if we were watching TV in the great room, she would have to crawl through the back of the room (again with a physical demonstration of how it works) and hide behind the far side of our sectional couch to see the TV.
And like the excellent parents (excellent and immature and, for sure, inadequate parents) that we are, we were speechless and then laughing. It wasn’t until later that I started to think of the things we had watched recently: Deadpool 1 and 2 (internal groans from me), The Tudors (which was aired on HBO, if that tells you anything) and a recent binge watch of EVERY SEASON of Game of Thrones.
I’m honestly too afraid to ask her if she watched any of those. I think ignorance is best in this situation.
But that’s how My Girl became another Throner like rest of the world… And why I now watch Friends reruns almost exclusively. If she starts asking “how you doin” though, I’m in big trouble.