The little ones were whining about whatever they didn't have and John and I looked at each other and then at the clock wondering if it was too early for bedtime. I ate chips right after dinner because I needed the salt pleasure but then the little ones climbed mount mommy to eat chips too. I shared even though one had barely touched dinner.
We bathed them uneventfully and brushed pearly whites unscathed by cavities. Both littles were crabby crabby crabby and we shuffled them through a bedtime routine without books. I plucked the littlest little from her crib where a drained Daddy had placed her. We snuggled and rocked and breathed into each other's hair.
She asked for milkies with a open squeeze open squeeze open squeeze of her sign language gifted baby hand. I told her no, and no again. She was weaned two weeks ago with only one slip of the tip *wink* on a very very very bad night. She snuggled into me again. We rocked and patted and breathed and listened to Enya. We prayed, I prayed thanking God for this bit of preciousness in my lap. I asked Him to guard her all through her long life. I thanked him she was healthy and beautiful and soft in my lap.
After forty five minutes I began to desire a hands free evening. I was ready to gently place this doll baby into her veryownbed so I could at long last indulge myself any whim unencumbered by parenting.
SHE. WAS. NOT. DONE. She screamed and railed and shook her baby head. She slobbered her pacifier out of her mouth any number of times. I patted, coaxed, yelled and stomped out cussing. My husband arose from below us to see. I hissed to him how pleasurable our rocking was, and at last I put her down to THIS. I felt schizophrenic. She still cries as I write this. She may be lamenting even when I dip fingers into the M&M bowl, scooping shiny colored candies to soothe myself.
Even though I already brushed my teeth.
This prattle inspired by and part of The Extraordinary Ordinary's Just Write Tuesday.