Firstly; Christmassy isn’t a word. Either with one or two s’s.
But I had to share this scene with you.
Letting the cubs bed down with me; I should know better. I do know better. I even had a warning from the ex, when I told her that that was my plan this evening.
It didn’t matter. I hadn’t seen them for a while and wanted them near me, so after bath-time, they both clambered into my bed.
Cue singing. By him, at the top of his voice; much to her annoyance.
One threat of ‘You’ll go back to your own bed..’ seemed to do the trick.
When I eventually turned in was not putting them into their own beds as they slept soundly. I tiptoed around my bedroom as I prepared for bed, trying not to disturb the status quo.
I use the light from the bathroom to gauge their positions in the bed, noting which side has the most room and where I have some chance of getting some sleep. Ablutions completed, I get in.
Getting into bed.
I’m a big unit; about 6’5 and about 110 kgs but, I moved with precision of a cat, stalking it’s prey. The duvet moved as skillfully as if performing surgery. Every muscle straining to smooth the whole movement into one, seamless motion. I lay back.
Onto a tiny arm.
Well, I might as well have entered the room with a small orchestra getting their ear in, whilst 10 waiters carried 10 trays of glasses in a 7.2 earthquake. He squealed and started to cry which woke her with a start. Yay me.
Not seizing this opportunity to put them into their own beds.
Instead, after the kisses and cuddles, we tried to make it work. All was still.
A tiny arm flopped over my face. Then a chubby foot settled itself in my armpit. Then my daughter protested of a foot in her back. The boy is flexible; I’ll give him that.
‘Stop breathing on my back! it’s dangerous!’
I’m too tired to challenge this theory, or make enquiries into its origins.
He’s clearly now heating up so he pulls his knees up to his chest and extends his feet downwards, clearing himself from the duvet. And us in the process. She was having none of it.
The row that follows sees him sitting up and asking for his water, which is on the bedside table nearest her. She passes him his bottle; he erupts into tears.
‘I WANTED TO GET IT!!’
She fires back at him with increasing volume to match, then puts the bottle back down, making him cry even more.
Please just give him his water bottle.
Now she starts to cry. ‘I WAS ONLY TRYING TO HELP!’
Now would’ve been another of those good opportunities to put them into their own beds. I didn’t take it. More cuddles and a sort of peace descends. We settle.
Moments later, my neighbour starts drilling; or sawing up a small oak tree; or starts his motorbike (that he doesn’t have) or cranks up their helicopter.
How can a 3 year old snore so loudly!!? he’s only just fallen asleep! and he’s only 3!! Did I mention that he’s only 3??
I gently, turn him to face his sister. ‘Daddy; I know what you’re doing’ she states quite correctly. She’s right, but I thought she was asleep.
I promise his breath isn’t fatal darling; you’ll be fine.
The problem with the day following the shortest day in the northern hemisphere is that it gets dark early and stays dark early. You can imagine my joy at hearing my 06:00 alarm going off the moment I had settled the cubs to some sort of sleep.
That was a terrible version of a good night. Sleep deprivation is a terrible weapon.
Merry Christmas to you and your loved ones. Pray for me.
2 Replies to “Could it get any more Christmasy??”
*Snickers and tries really hard not to let out belly laugh* So sorry for your rough night!
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You’d think I’d have learnt by now wouldn’t you. 😕
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