The Five Stages of Sleep Deprivation

I've written before about my struggles with Cosi being up at night and with being sick. This post is a slightly more light-hearted look at the same topic, since it seems I will be doomed to experience it again and again throughout the youth of my children, possibly as a much-needed experience in my sanctification.
This week, Cosi is sick with a cold, and she has generously shared that with April, Trey and me. Last night, she woke up at 1:49am and didn't go back to sleep until 3:54am. During that long stretch, we had many fun experiences, such as Cosi asking to fly back to East Asia, asking to see Pawpaw "just one time," asking me to wake up her Aunt Erica so she could hold Cosi, asking to have her nails polished, telling me to "go away, Daddy," asking me to hug her until she fell asleep, demanding juice, refusing to drink juice, demanding milk, refusing to drink milk, etc. During that time, I realized I was going through the five stages of grief:

Denial: She isn't really awake. If I ignore her, she'll go back to sleep in a minute. This hand insistently tapping my stomach is just a dream. I'm going to get a full night's sleep tonight, I just know it.
Anger: Why are you doing this to me? This is so unfair! I just fell asleep an hour ago! I hate this!
Bargaining: OK, if you go back to sleep, I'll let you watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse as much as you want in the morning. And I'll let you eat chocolate. And you can help with the laundry. And you can touch the computer. I'll even let you touch the computer now if you promise to fall asleep right after.
Depression: It's no use, I'll never sleep again. Go ahead, scream, cry, whine, whatever. I can't do anything about it. (This stage is usually experienced while lying on my back on the floor next to Cosi, closinng my eyes and not moving in the vain hope that she will think it's time to sleep).
Acceptance: It'll be OK. I'll be alright. Maybe April will watch the kids in the morning so I can sleep in an hour or two (she did). I just need to love my daughter and try to make her comfortable, even if that means lying in the dark and talking to her for an hour about the puppy that jumped up on her that afternoon. In fact, in 10 years I'm pretty sure I'll miss having moments like this.