We struck out swinging the last two nights. Like the better forms of stomach flu, Olivia's beneficial sleeping bug was of the 24-hour variety. It then mutated, as viruses will, into the all-night-fuck-you-and-your-little-dog-too bug, the Anti-Sandman's merciless Trojan horse. We have used every trick in the book, and I have even started pleading with her, eyes be-dewed with the tears of exhaustion, to Please, please just sleep for a couple of hours, Olivia. Please, baby girl, I need to sleep. Won't you sleep, please? Please, sweet girl, so mama can go earn a living and keep you in those fuzzy, tagless sleepers you demand?.
This...sucks? I need a better word for this. It...Hoovers? It Dirt-Devils? It Electroluxes?