I need to sleep

The final track on Pavement's Crooked Rain Crooked Rain, Fillmore Jive, has been running through my head all morning. It features a rather desperate sounding Steve Malkmus singing:


I need to sleep why don't you let me
I need to sleep why don't you
I need to sleep
I need to sleep
I need to sleep
I need to sleep, why won't you let me
I need to sleep
I need to sleep
I need to sleep
Why won't you, why won't you let me sleep?


He sounds so distraught and plaintive and his voice rises and soars like a little boy begging his parents. He sounds much like all of us in the cul-de-sac last night. Of course Malkmus is singing about coming down after a huge drug binge, not having a 17-month-old in the house who won't sleep anywhere but parked on Mum or Dad.
It's all come rather out of the blue. Harper's been ill for a little while with a cough and an ear infection, but after starting anti-biotics, he slept through the night just great for two nights. As he usually does. But Wednesday night after the funeral, he woke at 4am inconsolable. Not even a little bit sleepy, wanting to snuggle into us. After an hour of throwing our hands in the air not knowing what to do as Harper bawls his wee head off, I took him into bed with me and lay there with his bowling ball heavy head on my chest. He slept. I didn't.
Next night, same thing. He sleeps till 2am. Perplexed, we take him into bed again. Seeing a pattern here?
Next night. Won't go to bed. The boy who formally loved getting into bed with his special blanket and Mr Snuffy, now wants to sleep with us. Chaos ensues. He comes into bed with me. He sleeps. I don't.
Uh-oh. We've broken our formally good sleeper. And I have eye bags the size of suitcases.
So last night, after taking him to the doctor and making sure there is nothing actually wrong with him, we did what Plunket suggested - we put him in bed and let him try to get to sleep by himself. We took turns sitting in the rocking chair by his bed, and though he did get to sleep about 11pm, he woke at 2.15am and after an hour and a half of crying the Postie broke down and let Harper sleep with him on the chair. Even when I did manage some sleep, all I dreamt about were crying babies. And I spent a lot of time when H was asleep lying awake anticipating his next wake up call.
Man. This. Sucks. I want my good baby back.
Today I am as stupid as Stupid McStupidstupid's big brother Moron.