I most seriously wish someone had done a better job of warning me about the sleep deprivation that comes with having kids. It wouldn't have stopped the train from leaving the station, but I sure would have enjoyed that time BEFORE it left the station a little bit more. Right now I would say the deprivation is about 30% my own fault, but 70% of the blame falls firmly on the little shoulders of a certain short human who insists that she should recite War and Peace in her loudest toddler voice at all hours of the night.

Last night was an extra-special kind of night that included a late start to the Going to Bed Party for yours truly. I was all sorts of busy playing softball with some cool Pittsburgh bloggers and didn't get home until after the Toddler and Mr. Husband were already in bed. No problem, except that as I creeped up the stairs on my way to Zzzzzzland, I heard faint noises coming from The Toddler's room. So I did what any self-respecting parent would do, I rushed into the bathroom and closed the door to hide from her.

She found me.

She was pretty insistent that she needed to suction cup herself to my hip, so after a few minutes of ridiculous debate, I took her to bed with me. And we both fell asleep and lived happily ever after.

Except, not.

I have the distinct feeling that until the Toddler manages to grow some hair of her own (I think she has scheduled that activity for the year 2012), she is going to obsess over mine. The girl cannot keep her grubby little fingers out of my hair. Twirl, twirl, twirl. Pull, pull, pull. Yank, yank, yank. Twirl, twirl, twirl. So as soon as I tried to lay my head on the pillow, the overwhelming magnetic force of my fabulous hair drew her all the way over to my head, and the fingers dived right in for some twirly twirl.

I don't know about the rest of the world, but I can't fall asleep with a Toddler suction cupped to my head and twirling my hair. So, I engaged Operation Great Wall of Pillows. That's where I snap up a whole bunch of pillows and build a wall between the Toddler and my head. Sometimes Operation Giant Wall of Pillows works wonders and the Toddler ends up falling asleep while she's trying to climb it. Sure, she kicks Mr. Husband in the head 50 times doing it, but that's OK. He's not the one that got up with her every three hours for months and months so she could suck all the life force out of a boob. It's his turn for a little misery.

The Toddler must have been particularly alert last night for Operation Great Wall of Pillows was not such a success. Apparently the wall was missing some giant chunks of mortar because those chubby little hands kept managing to poke through. First they poked through up high. Then down low. Then on the left. And on the right. She suddenly had more hands jabbing around than a high school boy trying to unhook a bra strap, completely oblivious to the fact that it's a front-closure sort of contraption. I couldn't see the clock through the Great Wall, but I'm pretty sure the hand-to-hair combat went on for over 30 minutes.

I found myself wishing the Bulldog's butt was lying on my pillow instead of the Toddler.

This is an all-time low for me. Part of my brain knows that Bulldog butt stench is debilitating and potentially deadly, but the other part thinks that might be better than suffering through the pain of having each and every follicle of hair pulled out, slowly, and one at a time.

Can I get back on that train and take it to Zzzzzzland?