The Optimist in our house is by far the most persistent.
At 2:30 P.M. every day, I am in bed. The Optimist rests next to me. My objective is to put her to sleep then sneak away. I nurse her, hoping she'll make up for the nap she skipped at noon. The Optimist will allow her breathing to slow and even her eyes to close. After five minutes, when my own eyelids feel heavy, her eyes flicker open. She pulls away and gets on all fours. She says, "Uh-toy-toy-toy," looks out a nearby window, and smiles. Translation: "Thanks for the refreshment, silly Mommy. Where shall we go?" She looks at me.
My eyelids are closed. I'm watching her through my eyelashes. Simultaneously, I'm grieving that she is, once again, refusing to take a nap. Naps are great. If she doesn't want one, I DO.
The Optimist smiles at me. This smile is sincere in that she hopes I, too, am awake. When she sees that I don't appear to be, the smile disappears. There is work ahead. She crawls over to my face. Closer. She lifts her finger high, and sticks it in my nose.
Mommy is quick, however. Unlike her opponent, she remembers the same treatment from the day before. Instead of dropping the pretense, I snore.
The Optimist is disappointed, but not swayed. She crawls on top of me. She steps on my belly, digs her head into my side. When no satisfying end is reached, she takes a handful of hair. I brace myself. She yanks two or three times before falling back on her diaper to reassess the situation. She scans the room and realizes she can't continue her exploration of the world until I wake up and move her to the floor. Even if she got to the floor on her own, what good is discovering the world if Mommy isn't there to see it? Who would want to miss out on the 1-cm. long, black thread tucked under the ottoman?
The Optimist pats my face, babbles, and smiles a bit more. She won't give up; she can't give up. Something instinctual tells her to keep hoping, trying. She moves within an inch of my face, hoping to smoke me out. Finally, she crawls next to me. She squeezes close, puts her hand on my heart, and lays her head on my shoulder. It is the exact same position Mommy loves to sleep in when she takes a nap with Daddy. How does she know? Was she born knowing?
"Mommy's a sucker," I say. The Optimist smiles and giggles, knowing we're off to explore the world once more.
1 comment:
You wuss!
Seriously though, babies have a keen sense of knowing how to get their mommies and daddies up. The funny part is the many ways they will try in order to do so! If you are able to get through their cunnery though, they will do one of two things: try to jump off the bed themselves (this is for the more daring baby), or giving up and taking that sweet nap beside you.
Good luck!
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