Are you sure he's too young for Ambien?

We have not had an uninterrupted night of sleep in over a month and, frankly, people are beginning to talk and recommend Botox, green tea and non-invasive face lifts.

It all began with a severe case of croup for Madelena, followed closely by a LOOK AT ME, HEAR ME SCREAM FROM MY BED ALL NIGHT phase with Shawn Joaquin that continues to this foggy-headed day. Last night both children were either screaming or crying every half hour on the half hour, their little internal clocks pinging them with a "hey, let's do it now...this time in rounds and with FEELING" message. Gregg and I are weak with fatigue and frustration, while the kids seem relatively unfazed by their nocturnal feats.

Gregg and I divide the responsibility during the night: I take Madelena and he takes Shawn Joaquin. Madelena is generally more quickly soothed by my presence and Shawn Joaquin more quickly intimidated by Gregg's. But last night's rounds became an exercise in futility and comedy, each visit to Shawn Joaquin including the question "What do you want, Shawn Joaquin? Why are you crying?"

His answers:

"Nuffing. Be quiet and go to bed."

"I don't know why. But stop talking to me."

"I'm NOT crying. I'm talking to you. Now stop talking to me."

"You were making noise [in this midst of dead sleep] and boom boom sounds and that's not good. Not good at all."

We both have visions of putting masking tape on his mouth and New York City locks on the outside of his door, or just selling him to a deaf family who can appreciate his looks and occasional bursts of affection without being bothered by the wails and screams his passionate, emotional little self can not contain. I am thankful each and every night for Gregg, since his patience with Shawn Joaquin exceeds mine, at least in the dark.

I know we do not have a unique situation, and that many parents of multiple children deal with their nighttime battles for attention. So I wrote to a few of my friends to seek their advice — surely, though we have tried rewards/punishment/intimidation and emotion/non-emotion/soothing/firm voices, someone, somewhere must have an answer for us.

The answers were mixed, with everything from prayer to sedation (on one or both sides) recommended. Thankfully, no one insulted us by suggesting another frickin' chart with gold stars, which as we know from past experience generally ends up with gold stars permanently stuck to the hardwood and Shawn Joaquin asking "What I want stars for?" as well as another tree killed in the name of a soon-to-fail incentive program posted at knee level on the fridge. And all our friends' answers ended with an "it's just a phase, this too shall end" note. So my question is this: at what point does a phase become a permanent part of one's personality and behavior and lead to complete submission by the parents or a future that guarantees a dearth of friends, spouse or other meaningful relationship?

While I think we can safely assume that by 30 Shawn Joaquin will be able to sleep through the night without calling for his parents (who by then will be so addled from lack of sleep and advanced age that we would finally be able to ignore him anyway), today this "phase" seems endless. Yet I know on the day that I come home from the hardware store with a large bag of duct tape and a deadbolt or five, he will finally choose to sleep. In his short but colorful little life, Shawn Joaquin has never failed to push me right to the point of falling or flinging myself off the edge, only to suddenly become my sweet, sweet son again. The edge is close and the hardware store even closer, so let's cross our shaky fingers and pray to god, Allah or holy Sarah Michelle Gellar for a night without wails from any human of any age in the very near future. If not, I will be making another deposit in Shawn Joaquin's Therapy Fund, which it at this point seems so much more important and likely to be used than any common college fund.