It pretty much takes a train wreck to wake up my daughter.
In fact, if a train carrying nuclear missiles exploded right in the middle of a 3-ring-circus, I'm still not sure it would wake her up.
Unless, of course, you touched her....
We were laying in bed, quietly drifting off to sleep, when all of a sudden we heard "uuullllckckckckah, uuullllckckckckah, uuullllckckckckah, blllleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeccccccccchhhhhhhhhh".
With a "HOLY CRUDBUCKETS DOG", my dear husband jumped out of bed, to the rescue of our carpet, and ran the puppy into the bathroom.
Rocco was sick. Not just once, but 16 times. Nathan would get up, each time yelling some sort of perturbed exclamation, clean up, put the dog up, then get back in bed just in time to hear "uuulllckckckckah, uuullllckckckckah, uuullllckckckckah, blllleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeccccccccchhhhhhhhhh" all over again. Like I said, 16 times. He finally upchucked something metal that we're pretty sure was the cause of all the hacking. Through all of this noise, Mayah stayed asleep.
(Yes mother, I am well aware that this is why you don't have dogs. We get it.)
So, in the midst of all the puking, Mayah and I are laying there in bed, her little head asleep on my arm and me feeling really guilty that I wasn't helping my dear husband clean up. I kept asking him if he needed help, but he kept demanding that he would only be angrier if we had an awake baby to deal with once the puking finally stopped. So I stayed in bed....and she stayed asleep.
A little while later Nathan finally decided that he was going to take Rocco downstairs so I could at least get some sleep. I objected and rapidly sat up in bed, forgetting the sleeping baby next to me. He objected to my objection and pointed out that Mayah was STILL asleep, even after I had jumped so hard, so I'd better lay back down and get some sleep or he was going to be mad at me too.
So he left. Before he hit the bottom of the stairs I heard "ROCCO YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FREAKING KIDDING ME!!!!!", and I knew the puking was nowhere near the end of its run. So I went to lay back down, very thankful for a husband who understands the importance of my sleep.
Now I must emphasize that Mayah has slept through teenage girl slumber parties, youth group lock-ins, a countless number of movies (including several at the theaters), a superbowl party, fighting dogs, Sunday morning singing, and worst of all, my dad.
(I would also like to take this moment to point out that even as I sit here typing this, Mayah is asleep on my lap and I just had the most violent set of sneezes my body could muster. I'm pretty sure I'd put a dwarf to shame with those. Yet, she is still out cold.)
I never suspected that one tiny little movement would be the end of peace as I knew it.
I moved her arm. Shame on me. I should have known better, but I did it anyway. I moved it half an inch so I could lay back down, and with the tiny movement came a less than tiny scream.
Nobody got anymore sleep that night.
I'm choosing to look at the bright side of this. It's times like these when I'm extremely glad my husband doesn't have boobs. Otherwise I would have been cleaning up a lot of doggie puke.