Her little baby nose snores outward the air from her slumber-filled dreams. She is one of tortured sleeper children; one that tosses and turns and flips like a gymnast in her sleep.
No matter how warm or cold outside, her hair is always wet and matted with her sweat, my baby sweaty sleeper.
Snoreeeee.
My Baby Dude, having just finished his banana, is sweeping his blue crayon across the coloring page forming letters. He enjoys coloring and writing while she naps because then she doesn’t “KASTROY” his stuff. (He means “destroy,” but I like his version better.)
I enjoy doing things while she naps, too, because her restful times are my hurry-up-and-get-it-done times. She is my sweet-faced demanding baby, very needy and clingy and always has to have both of momma’s hands on her, or else.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her flip-flop and her eyes peek open. I inhale, holding my breath in hopes she isn’t truly waking, I still have some things to get done before she’s up.
She itches her ears, stretches her teeny twenty-four pound body outward, kicking over a book I was using.. THUD. Her eyes open widely, she glances sideways towards me, her lip quivering slightly.
Time’s up.
