Sunday, January 22, 2006
Sometimes a sweet baby girl has a hard time falling asleep on her own. Then she stares at me glassy-eyed and imploringly. She's warm and cozy in her little bed. Her eyes start to close and she takes on that look. The look that would scare a mother if it wasn't accompanied by breathing. She's starting to lose the battle, but boy does she try to hang on. She obviously doesn't have her mother's gift for The Nap. Just when I think she is asleep she wakes again and looks--not so much at me as past me. She's not really awake? Is she? She twitches and flinches and closes those eyes. Heavy breathing...has she succumbed to sleep? Yes. She's committed. She's joined the Sunday Afternoon Napping Club--a confirmed card carrying member. But as a last, weak protest she feigns sadness in her sleep and scrunches up that precious little face before she completely abandons herself and lets Mr. Sandman have his way. And right on cue Mr. Friendly Neighbor revs the Harley. Perhaps all the dogs next door will entreat us to a little barking, too?