Nurse Angry sometimes just wakes up angry and goes from there.

A rather benign example of sleep torture. Kid stuff doesn’t really count.

Nurse Angry and partner go to bed just after 11 PM, a smart move as at 11 the neighbor (Dog Lady, there’s one in every building) goes out with her dogs. Dogs who like to BARK.  On the street. In the apartment. In the courtyard. In the stairwell. Etc. etc. Shortly after inserting magic silicone earplugs (which unfortunately do not block poodle yelps), Nurse Angry hears something that just MIGHT be a child coughing but  ignores it. Around midnight the fun begins. Nurse Angry is sleepily laying her book aside when Three-year old flies screaming into bedroom, coughing and crying. Nurse Angry thanks St. Jude (the patron saint of lost causes and pharmaceuticals) for the small miracle that is cough syrup and puts small person back in bed. Just one  hour later she is finally asleep. At 6 AM, the garbage collectors come and pull 2 containers forth and back over the cobblestones in the courtyard. Nurse Angry considers getting up to go to the Little Nurse’s Room but decides against it, figuring a semi-full bladder will take care of itself a while longer. And looking on the positive side for once, there is still the possibility of 1 1/2 hours more sleep.

Possibility, not probability. Three-year old, for reasons nobody can understand, will some weeks give us a daily 6:20 wake up call.

Nurse Angry realizes that the gods, in their infinite wisdom, created not only children, but caffeine, sugar and Louis CK.

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