What does it mean when you feel like somehow you are not raising a son but grooming a king? It means that I read too much mythology.

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Every night before I go to bed I think to myself that tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow will be smooth and easy and organized. And That Baby will not trip me up. He will nap when he should and eat when he should and go to bed when he should. ALL without the slightest bit of fuss, muss or mess! He might just eat those grapes that I keep trying to feed him.

I will get a nice long shower and go to the bathroom alone, at least once. I will clean the house and wash the bedding — ALL the bedding. Comforters included. I will scrub the bathrooms AND their floors. Everything, I mean EVERY THING will be in order, all day.

Then I start to doze off… slowly slipping into a delirium of sleep. That coma caused by the sleeplessness that started when I, and almost every other mother, was six months pregnant. My mind finally lets go and takes a break from the usual clutter that keeps me moving like a zombie through the day. Ah… my muscles start to relax, my mind is clear…

Then it happens. It isn’t loud. Or even sharp. Just a peep. A subtle whimper. Possibly the puppy next door whining to be let in? The cat crying to get out? No and No and NO. I know exactly what it is. I am jolted, like lightening has hit my bones. I freeze. don’t - make - sound… don’t - move… SHHHHHH… Maybe it will stop if I am very, very quiet and very, very still. Maybe I can go back to my coma. Ah, the sweet release of sleep.

And then it happens. The low whimper turns into a blood-curdling scream that can only mean one thing. “I WILL NOT BE IGNORED!! WENCH!”

And that is how tomorrow begins, at 12:21 AM.