I cracked. I was just soooo tired. So when the Giblet starts howling with lonesomeness at 4.30 am, I changed her nappy – trance-like – and put her straight into bed with us. (I just KNEW it’d be a nightmare getting her settled in her own bed and the odd time we’ve resorted this in the past, she’s gone straight back off again.)
Not this morning though. No.
It’s pitch black in our room so the following blog entry should paint more of an audio sound track of my morning as opposed to a visual picture. (note to self – is paint an appropriate metaphor when describing an audio soundtrack? Can you even describe a piece of written work thus? I shall go and refill my wine glass and ponder this as I write.)
I’m Back! ***Slurps Rioja*** Now where was I? Oh yes! So we’re all in bed. Husband is sound asleep, Grace is thumb-sucking which is a promising sign, and I am profoundly tired and about to drift back off again snuggling my baby girl. Lovely.”
Approximately 30 seconds pass. I have been asleep for 10 of them when . . .
“Sssssssshhhh Grace. There’s a good girl.”
30 more seconds pass.
“WHUT! WHUT! ASHAAAAAA. . . Yep.”
“Ssshhhhhhhhhhhhh” I whisper, conscious of Stu beginning to stir. “Quiet time now baby, ssshhhhhhhhhhh.”
“Ssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhh!” Grace copies. But really loudly.
“Yes, Shhhhhhhhh poppet. Sleepy time.”
Grace ponders this, and sucks her thumb again. Off we drift to the land of n…
“ALL GONE!” ALLGONEALLGONEAAAAAAALLLLLLGOOOONE!”
(Still whispering) “Gracie Boo, you’re confusing sleepy time with being-a-gobby-so-and-so-time. Now nighty night.”
This time I almost get a full minute.
“ALL GONE. WHUT. GABGABA. SHUWAAA. HIYA. ISHUWA. SHHHHHHHHH. GUUBER…”
“Jesus Christ Grace Pleeeese shut up. Please please please please pleeeeeeease.”
With some hair stroking and yet more shushing, we eventually both drift off, despite the quite painful habit Grace has acquired of pulling my fringe when she’s sleepy. I am too tired to care and sink deliciously into the abyss of beautiful slumber. (I also have a slightly erotic dream about Martin Clunes which is worrying!) Alas though, dear reader, slumber is not to last long. I am awoken yet again by a loud and sudden “OOF” noise and an expletive from my other half. Grace is laughing.
“She just sat on my frigging face! Dead hard!” complains Stu. It would seem that Grace is wide awake again and playing bumps on Daddy’s head. It is – to her – hilarious. The game of bumps is swiftly followed by a karate chop, baby-style and a “HIGH-YA!” Now this absolutely serves Stu right because he’s been painstakingly teaching her this over the past few weeks. (see previous blog entry about men and woman) Not so funny now though, eh? Another note to self – is the HIGH-YA thing a bit racist? Must investigate.)
I give up. No point in both me and Stu loosing sleep and Grace is very obviously as wide awake as Louis Spence on amphetamines, so I scoop her up, take her down stairs and let her play. I notice the clock as I sit and watch her with a very strong cup of coffee. 5.30am. Doesn’t seem that long ago that we were going to bed at that time! Needless to say, the minute I got dressed and felt wide awake myself, SOMEONE went all sleepy again and was put back to bed. GGggrrrrrrrr
And as for the first Note to self, re-the use of the metaphor “paint”? Having slurped wine and pondered, my conclusion is thus. Who gives a sh*t . . . I’M TIRED!!!