Around here, we’re not really experts on much. I’m not sure how many special talents we really have, but there is one thing that we’re pretty darn good at. That is preventing Cormac from sleeping. I mean seriously. We’re really good at it.
Just imagine, a little baby, so tired that his eyes are drooping, his face is all scrunched up in a fuss-ready expression, and he’s holding onto me for dear life, afraid I might leave him to his own devices at any minute. I understand these cues, so I cradle the little guy as he nurses off to sleep, in a perfect world of love and peace. Just as soon as those little eyes close, those little fists unclench:
1.) Samantha yells “Done!”*
2.) I slowly progress to the door, reach said door, carefully, magically, turn the doorknob with one hand under a sleeping baby, only to find that it is locked, and Samantha has conveniently lost any and all keys that she has been using to lock all the doors in the house only moments prior.
3.) Matthew Sneezes. Coughs. Whispers. Inhales sharply. Or any of the other myriad of sound effects that he does at exactly the wrong tone and volume. (This is, of course, not his fault, but it is, nonetheless, perfectly true)
4.) The dog bursts into the room just to check on me and then leave.
5.) Samantha turns into the Wordless Wonder. Her alter-ego who knows no English and only speaks in whines, flailing, or baby-talk.
6.) Samantha walks into the room, whispers a question at exactly the perfect quiet volume, then yells/complains/whines loudly when I answer no. There is always an incredibly strong temptation to answer yes to all questions posed during this delicate pre-nap time, and she knows this.
7.) Samantha quietly, wordlessly gets onto the bed and lays down exactly where I’m going to lay the baby down. This never ends well for anyone.
8.) I attempt to tenderly lay the baby down onto his tummy only to actually flip him over onto his face with no grace whatsoever. (This takes serious talent, and sometimes I’m just not on my A game)
9.) The phone rings.
10.) I try to amble into the room with the perfect amount of bounce in my step, and I trip over something.
*Sam has informed us that when she turns 4 years old, she’ll be big enough to wipe herself. Let the countdown begin.
Of course, despite our many faults, the boy somehow manages to get most of his sleep, and thank goodness, this is what his little angelic face usually looks like afterward: