And Loose the Moms of War!
While my Lord and Master is sleeping, I figured I would take this chance to make a post. It's not that I don't think he knows what I'm doing, or that I think I'm winning the war, but he's been momentarily bested by my heavy artillery (the boob is mightier than the baby sometimes) and is merely regrouping with a quick nap. Why do I think I'm going to lose the war? Simple. Thomas is psychic. I figured this out last night as he was peacefully drifting to sleep in my arms. He'd just nursed and was all snuggled up. He looked so sweet as his eyes closed and his breathing slowed, his little arms hanging loose and limp across his little milk gut. As I sat there, staring in awe at his beautiful little face I began to mentally compose a post about my victory. Epic phrases praising my conquest of General Wakeypants at the Battle of Milkerloo swirled through my brain. Heady and flushed with battle fever and triumph, I was, apparently, thinking much too loudly. His eyes slowly creaked open. I stopped moving. His hand twitched. I stopped breathing. He started to grin. I knew I was fucked. With a wail that shredded the flimsy gauze that had been, mere seconds before, the bravely flying pennants I had (preemptively) claimed as my war trophies, Sir Napsanot informed me that he'd merely been playing possum in order to lull me into letting my guard down in celebration before he struck. He could hear my plans. He knew I'd been relieved he'd fallen asleep because the boob was drained - he knew I was out of ammo! Oh devious baby! What did he want? What was his goal in this skirmish? He was tired, so I know he'd eventually sleep, but not before he'd made sure I was dead certain that his position of superiority in this Baby vs. Mommy prizefight was not a fluke, but maintained through strategic genius and supernatural abilities. After he did finally go to sleep, he spent the entire night kicking, punching and slapping me in his sleep. Because the Geneva Convention forbids continued aggression against an enemy that has conceded defeat, he covered it up by letting out a few gut-busting farts this morning so that he could claim he'd merely been wrestling with gas all night, and my inadvertant pummelling was nothing more than unfortunate, and forgivable, friendly fire. I know the truth, though. He was punishing me for my insolence. I bow to him, my little Macchiavelli.
Ah, right on cue, His Lordship wakes...
Ah, right on cue, His Lordship wakes...
3 Comments:
you seriously should have been a horseman woman.. you definitley write like one :-) LUV YEW!!!!
Try the wonder that is 'co-sleeping'. I have one toddler elbowing me and assaulting the top half of my body while the other toddler kicks me most of the night. It's our fault, they were born at home and have never left our bed.
When we watched that movie, 'The Ring, I commented that my non-napping toddler was similar to Samara in that she rarely slept for more than a few minutes at a time. My husband said I was a sicko for saying such a thing.
Wow, apparently blogger only emails you that you have comments after you log in and could have ascertained that for yourself. Harumph. Just wanted to pop in and say, "Thank you," Jayde. I don't know if I have the time or stamina for horsemanship, but if you need a scribe, now, that I can do!
And, elasticwaistbandlady, you have my admiration. As much as I love sleeping with the Disco Ninja in the bed, I sort of long for the days when all that kept me up were Mr. Grammatarian's snoring, the cats walking up and down on my shins, the sudden loud cat bathing, my bladder, the loud drunks leaving the nearby bar....hrm, come to think of it, I never have had a full night of sleep, so I guess I should be used to it by now. I suppose the kicking and punching just add a whole new level of fun. I don't think the Samara comment was offsides, either - sleepless children are the things horror movies are made of!
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