No Cool Spots On My Pillow

Is there some law of the universe that causes all babies, upon turning one year old, to become deranged monsters, intent on destroying the home they live in and their parents' sanity?

Alex was always such a laid back baby (except when he first came home, but that doesn't count, he only weighed 4 pounds). He was content to lie on a blanket, to play with his with his toys, to explore the areas of the house that we deemed safe (i.e. no litter box or sharp pointy things). I could go to the bathroom, eat a meal, check the mail, make a sandwich... no problems. He slept through the night, except for a few peeps that quickly passed. He ate everything that we placed in his general vicinity (okay, this is still true, but it seemed like this list needed three things... you know, to round it out.)

No more easy going baby. He has left the building, replaced in the night by this active, mobile, curious, loud, demanding, angry child.

Put him down: wails and teeth gnashing along with noodles for legs that leave him crumpled on the floor in a pathetic heap.

Leave the room: howls of outrage and despair and possibly even betrayal (How can you go to the bathroom!! Don't you love me anymore?!?!).

Try to give him the milk when what he wants is the banana: look of disgust, cries of anger, cup to the floor and an attempt to hurl himself from the highchair.

The sleep, though. That's what's killing me.

He wakes up and howls sometime between 2 and 3, but settles back to sleep with relatively little trouble. The trouble come about 6:30. He wakens, realizes he's alone and turns on his music box. This amuses him for about 0.3 seconds. Then he gets bored and since he's still exhausted (he went to bed at 11, after all) he starts screaming. Immediate satisfaction is demanded. My sleep fogged brain is yanked from slumber, adrenaline pumping. Is the house on fire? Did someone break in? Did someone break in and set the house on fire? Did someone break in and set Alex on fire?

The answer, of course, is none of the above. He just wants Mommy and Daddy. I stumble to his room, pick him up, cuddle him and dry his tears. He is now content and sleepy once again. They I try to put him back in the crib. This is a huge mistake, as I should know by now. He switches back into full blown panic mode, so I pick him back up and make my way back to bed.

Alex collapses on my chest and immediately passes out; I do the same. Jym has slept through all of this. Sounds good, right? Everyone's asleep so it should be good?

Wrong.

Jym is a furnace. Sleeping with him is like sleeping next to a campfire... in the middle of the summer... is equatorial Brazil. Alex has inherited this trait. What this means, for me at least, is sweat, and overheating and NO SLEEP! I wake up, over and over again. I try to switch to a cooler spot on the pillow. Sadly, it turns out there are no cool spots left on the pillow. But it is damp with sweat, so that's a great bonus!

Jym and Alex sleep on, blissfully unaware of the heat wave under the sheets while I doze fitfully until Alex wakes up for good, around 9:30 or 10. Then its time for breakfast and to start the day. Zombie Mommy strikes again.

This gets better, right? He will start sleeping better before college, right? Right?!