Just as my mother did for me in the wee hours of the morning, I find myself doing the same for my daughter. That is, I find myself sandwiched between my husband and my wiggle worm at 0 dark 30 in the morning.
When the Sun was properly over the horizon I woke my sleeping beauty and asked her why it was that she was in my bed and not in the tent she insisted I help her make and that she sleep in. She so candidly stated that, “It’s ’cause my babies just like, wouldn’t stop crying. I even yelled at them 13 times but they wouldn’t stop. *Deep sigh*” Then she just stared at me like this was a real and frustrating situation instead of a product of her imagination.
I just stared back and then cracked up because, really, if I had 9 babies that wouldn’t shut up after incessant yelling I would run to a place of comfort too. But that would probably be my fridge for that bottle of wine. It’s a good thing there aren’t 9 real babies living here. My daughter would be sleep deprived and I’d be drunk.