I hear the call loud and clear. I lie there quietly hoping my husband hears it louder and clearer, knowing perfectly well it’s my turn to answer. Who am I kidding? He wouldn’t hear if leprechauns were doing a jig on our headboard. I envy the way that man sleeps.
I answer the call with a groggy, half-closed eye thing going on. A bottle is quickly made–thank you, baby Keurig–and I grab the wailing mummy baby from his bed.
Actually, I should be grateful. This isn’t happening every night anymore. And luckily for
us—err…me–he saved this time for a Friday when we don’t have to be out the door as the sun begins to rise but the moon is still hanging high. I mean, I can have coffee in my PJs come morning, people. I may even get to drink it kinda hot.
I change his diaper as quickly as I can before he screams so loudly he wakes sleeping beauty-sister in the bedroom next door and we settle into the cozy glider. I always hate getting up but I love this quiet snuggle time. We cozy with a blanket-for-two and listen to the ever-present quiet rain coming from his magic machine that runs 24 hours a day. We can hear thunder storms coming from the machine next door–different strokes for different folks.
He begins to eat and immediately closes his eyes. Within moments, little man is sleeping but still dream feeding. I always find that funny. There are things you can get away with as a baby that people would question your sanity for as an adult: eating while sleeping, pooping while eating, crapping in the bathtub.
He actually finished a while ago but seems too cozy to move back into the bed. This is where I get into trouble every time: I hold him longer than I should missing out on my own precious sleep. I can sleep when I’m dead–right? I won’t be getting these baby moments back once he’s just a bit older.
I squeeze him a little tighter, rock him a little longer and drink in the smell of him. He smells different than McKenna. He smells like George. Each child has their own sweet scent known to probably only The Mama. But I could pick them out of a blindfolded sniffing line up–no gross stuff please. He’s a loud sleeper–cooing and jabbering gibberish most of the night through. That’s why he moved to his own sleeping quarters maybe a little earlier than some.
Just as I am about to put him into his crib, he gives me a little smile and I know he’s talking to his angels, again. Sadly–for the rest of us–he has many angels so missed here on earth. I take some comfort knowing that he’s being watched over by so many seasoned ladies.
Tell them I said hi.
I tip-toe back to bed hoping the call doesn’t come again but remembering that these moment are numbered. It’s not so bad as long as there is caffeine when the sun comes out.
I am writing for the Two Writing Teachers March Writing Challenge