Archive | May, 2012

Wordless Wednesday

16 May


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[Nearly] Wordless Wednesday

9 May

The loudest hour at the quietest time

8 May

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11:50 p.m. – I wake to the subtle shift of the fan powering down and the air conditioner going to sleep.

11:51 p.m. – Apparently, the shift is less subtle to Lucy who responds to the sudden heat and complete darkness with a wail and a whimper. Plug-in baby monitor not needed to hear her symphony of cries.

11:53 p.m. – I force my eyes open, adjusting to the blackness that is a power outage, throw my legs over the side of the bed, fish around for my flip flops and plod into Lucy’s room.

11:54 p.m.. Sweat waterfalls down my spine, creating a wading pool of perspiration at my coccyx as I lift Lucy from her crib.

11:55 p.m. “allá [there],” she begs, pointing to our bedroom door. Her eyes plead with me to allow her to slumber in mom and dad’s bed.

11:56 p.m. I move toward the door, but instead of relief, Lucy expresses concern, pointing back to her crib. We’ve forgotten her friends, George, Buddy Bear, Lambie, and Tiger. Balancing her on my left hip, I reach in to grab her furry friends with my right arm and she quickly pulls them in close.

11:57 p.m. We make our way back to my room and I nuzzle her into a sweet spot right between her dad and me. I lie down next to her, on my back, and immediately she rolls her tiny little frame onto my stomach, gives me an embrace, lets out a sigh, and falls fast asleep.

11:58 p.m. I am still awake

11:59 p.m. I am still awake

12:02 a.m. I am still awake

12:07 a.m. I am still awake. The room is getting hotter and I can’t sleep without the whir of the fan or the drone of air conditioner.

12:09 a.m. Knowing that I am tempting fate, I wrestle my arm free from her embrace and reach for my book. She stirs and wakes.

12:10 a.m. She sits up, points to her room, “allá.” I try to ease her back to sleep in our bed, knowing that she won’t be happy in the solitary darkness of her own room, sans nightlight. She insists. “Allá”

12:15 a.m. I give in, throw my legs over the side of the bed yet again and plod back to her room.

12:16 a.m. I lower her into her crib, friends and all, and just as she reaches the mattress, she looks up, clings to my shoulders, and with persistence, says, “allá, allá,” pointing back towards our room.

12:17 a.m. I try to soothe her by singing… “I love you, a bushel and a peck…a bushel and a peck…”

12:20 a.m. We are back in our room.

12:25 a.m. She won’t settle. Awake now, I have a stroke of genius. I pick her up once more, carry her to room, grab her crib and drag it thru the hallway and place it at the foot of our bed. Her bed, our room. This must work.

12:30 a.m. Once again, I lower her to the mattress and once again, she clings and cries. “Allá,” she says.

12:31 a.m. – 12:49 a.m. – we continue the dance, moving between her room and ours, singing choruses of “allás” until…

12:50 a.m. We wake up Daddy.

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