It’s 2a.m. and I’m half asleep. The clown to the left of me is Greg. The joker to the right is the baby monitor. I can hear Chloe beginning to stir and I’ve decided at six months, I’m going to give her a few moments to try to work out whatever it is that is waking her before Mommy rushes in to soothe her.
I’ve noticed over the past few nights, Greg’s not-so-subtle attempt to quiet her by getting my attention as if to say, “Can you HEAR THAT? Go stick a boob in that kid’s mouth!”
He not-so-discretely drags his heavy foot across the bottom half of the bed in a straight line, pressing down on the linens, through the mattress pad making a zipping, streak across the bed.
My former yoga instructor (prior to having three kids, I had time for yoga) would say, “it’s a small movement, but it’s extremely effective.”
The next time he tries to encourage me to slink into the baby’s room in the middle of the night with his non-verbal cues, while he continues to snore, I may have to bite him.
