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We should have named the baby Mogwai, because after midnight, he turns into a completely different creature. During the day, he’s easy going, for the most part. But at night, he transforms into an unsettled beast child, rejecting sleep in all its forms and all those who seek it.

Some nights he teases us with a full night’s sleep, sometimes up to four or five nights in a row. Then he brings the hammer down, scorning us for whatever transgressions by committing to a full scale wail at the most ungodly hour. After the night-long battle, torn between bouts of screaming, crying, rocking, cajoling, and finally silence, we lay in paranoid waiting for the next round, which cruelly begins the moment we begin to drift off to sleep.

By morning, he has no memory of this insane ritual. The darling child awakens smiling, happy and somehow refreshed. We drag ourselves out of bed, to greet him and the new day, barely able to maintain a single thought in our minds. We have no recognition of the kid we see before us, the monster slumbering just below the surface.