It’s 5:05 A.M. and Suzianne’s screams are blaring through the monitor. We spawned an early riser. It is clearly a cruel joke the Universe is playing on two people who, pre-baby, routinely slept until Noon on Saturdays.
“No, ma’am. Not today,” I Momma Mean Whisper as I walk with a purpose down the hall. But when I barrel through the door this particular morning, she actually is reaching for me. My heart softens. Most days, I am the last thing she wants to see, as she wakes with hanger only satiated with scrambled eggs and Daddy.
I pick her up, she’s calming, then, pointing back to the crib. I lay her down and play with her hair. I forget I was on a mission to quickly put her to bed and fall back to sleep in my own. It’s times like these when she’s so content to have me there that I lose track time and agenda.
She’s nearly asleep so I tip toe out of her room with that warm fuzzy feeling of CREEEEAK!
The 80 year old floor gives away my exit with such volume it actually causes me to jump.
“Let’s try this another way, together,” I say, scooping up Suzianne and her pink elephant. We are making our way to the couch and I’m thinking this will never work. By design, co-sleeping is something we never do. Dave and I love our bed, our sleep, our clean and crumb-free sheets. But this morning, it’s clear she’s still sleepy. I’m still sleepy.
We are curled up under a blanket and she smells like baby. Her little nose is just inches from mine. She has put her feet between my legs because they are cold. Her head is resting on my arm. Her eyelids are heavy. Thoughts of gratitude and love are causing my eyes to well up. Will she ever understand how much I love her?
She’s asleep, her little hand laying on my chest. I am starting to understand why co-sleepers do this and it occurs to me:
I have to pee.