D2 doesn't sleep particularly soundly at the best of times, and this week apparently is not the best of times. He scheduled a dirty diaper for right as I was going to sleep Tuesday evening, and that just got him warmed up for the rest of the night.
So yesterday I was feeling sorely sleep-deprived. It's probably more psychological than physical, the fear of facing the day on little sleep is worse than simply facing the day would be if I had no idea how much I'd slept. But since I cannot erase the memory of how little I slept the night before, there I was, struggling through the day.
At last I collapsed in exhaustion on the children's floor, whimpering slightly. I was next to D1's mattress, which we never get around to putting in a frame because they're having so much fun with it on the floor. D2 came and stood next to me and practiced standing up and sitting down. Then D1 came and sat next to him, and she folded her hands and said, "Let's pray!" So D2 folded his hands, too, and they both muttered some suitable words which I couldn't quite make out.
I'm not sure what they prayed for, but it wasn't that they would sleep better, because last night not only was D2 up just as much (if he had to wake up for something last night, surely he needs to wake up for it at the same time tonight), but D1, who usually sleeps like a log, kept waking up and wanting to go potty, something she never cares about in the night. (And also with little evidence of proper timing.)
Maybe they just prayed I'd have more strength to endure, because I do feel a little better about things this morning.