Keeping it Together

For those of you who've been holding your breaths waiting to find out if I did in fact die in the night through tongue asphyxiation - thank you, your concern is duly noted. 

No, no. It would have been quite an exciting way to go, but, for it to happen, I would have to actually have been sleeping. 

What with midnight loo trips for the clan of the incredibly tiny bladders, as well as the monster-deterring vigil, and last but not least, the 3am brainstorming session to come up with a better dream for AirBear to have, because she apparently was not totally satisfied with that last one, sleep was elusive. The wee hours of the morning were concluded by inviting a cold-footed three year old into my bed so that I could at least get a little sleep.

"Cuddle me, Mommy," she demanded. I acquiesced, my right arm pinned down by a head of fly-away hair. The fly-away hair kept launching up my nose. I sneezed.

"You're bouncing my brains," she complained in a sleepy voice.

I mumbled an apology and twisted my head away from hers so as to avoid inhaling little strands of silky hair. Somehow, arching and twisted, I managed to fall asleep.

A kick woke me. She was sitting up in bed glaring at me. I had my back to her.

"You flopped me right at Daddy," she protested. "And now I'm awake."

I checked the clock: 05h30. The mother of the year was getting up.

"It's too early for you to be awake," I said. "Come cuddle with me." She wriggled away from me. "My daddy is going to make me some tea," she could have stuck her tongue out with that retort, but she didn't.

Only once she had received her tea, pointed out her father's inappropriate clothing choice, and received a shower of kisses from the departing man, did she slide back under the covers beside me, her ice-block toes sucking the life-force out of my midriff. She fell asleep. Just as T-Bird started stirring.

I understood then that I actually had no choice but to start the day. Leaving my baby tucked up in a cosy eiderdown cocoon, I ventured into the house to see to the needs of my five year old. (That's not true, actually. It was more to keep her from waking her sister than anything else.)

And as the sun started to rise, I realised that I was still alive. My tongue had not detached itself in the night, and I had not choked to death on it. It was somewhat of an anti-climax. Almost disappointing.