So. It talks in its sleep. It’s official as both the wife and I have conferred on various things it has said during the night. This comes as something of a relief to me, because one night I thought devils were talking to me in a deep chant. Turns out it was the toddler doing a voice that mimics my snoring. So, you have no idea how thankful I was that nothing had shown-up to collect on the second mortgage on my soul.
It also wakes up singing. Which is bloody delightful when relating the tale across a lunch table, but being dragged out of a deep sleep where one is with the faceless lover, to be regaled with the toddler version of “incy wincy spider”, feels like devils turning up to collect on the second mortgage one has on their… Nevermind.
Sleep time, as sacred as it is, has no sanctity in this home as far as the toddler cares. Dad goes to bed early sometimes. Always after the toddler but mostly before the wife. Dad is kind of old, drinks a bit, gets bored easily and sometimes needs to sleep in the bed as opposed to passing-out on the couch where he may wake to catch the wife not performing the foot massage duties she reluctantly started. So… I get into bed and fall asleep. A nice sleep. A sleep where dreams come and the little voice that likes to whisper to me about bills, film investors and all that nonsense goes away. I’m dragged out of that sleep exactly 12 minutes later with the toddler waking, looking at the hunk of snoring fur on the other side of the bed and yelling “mama!” Which in turn wakes me in a snuffling mess preparing to fight whatever monster has dared enter the room. I imagine as a small human, waking to something like me in the bed that wasn’t there when she fell asleep, as her lovely mum put her to bed, must be a bit of a shock. Even though the toddler has known me all her life and witnessed me bent over of a morn searching for my pants – sans knickers; there are some things no one is ever quite prepared for.
Yet…the being awoken by the toddler talking, singing, kicking me, or farting loudly and giggling; pale in comparison to dad waking and needing to take a leak because he’s cold as hell. Ya see, the doona is sacred to the wife for her warmth and the toddler for her warmth. Dad doesn’t get a look in and the poor fat bugger is usually left to sleep balls-out in the open breeze, despite having started the night tucked up nice and warm. Basically, night time in the bed here is a turf war. A turf war between the Crips and the Bloods and the dumb elderly neighbour that refuses to move. I’m the dumb elderly neighbour in this scenario. However, the toddler hates the doona. She kicks it off as she likes to sleep out in the cold because doonas are for wankers. But as caring parents, the rules state to keep it warm and keep it fed. So, any time it looks as though the keeping warm bit is lapsing, one must act. But she’ll yell at my caring self when she catches my soft ass trying to tuck her in at 2 in the morning because you know — I love her and I’m awake because I’m cold and she’s been jabbering nonsense. However, she shuns the doona that by rights is mine.
They don’t give you much instruction when they hand the squishy, alien-looking thing to you at the hospital. Keep it fed, clean and warm are the basics. You need a license to own a fucking frog for crissake, but these baby things any idiot is allowed to have.
I’ve been woken so many times during the last week needing to take a pee that I was thinking I may need to see a finger doctor. (The dread and analogy of this I would love to write, but it probably belongs to another blog). Turns out it’s just because I’m cold that I need to pee, as the females in my life abuse me by stealing all the bed clothes. Consistently, I might add, steal all the bed clothes.
The toddler has asked to go to bed now. It’s in there with the wife, relaxing, mumbling against a boob. I have the telly on pause of course, because to finish the movie would be wrong.
The toddler said “daft bugger” this evening. I don’t know what the context was, but she was looking me in the eye when she said it.
Daft bugger. They grow up so fast.
FUN FACT: She loves helping wash the car and has her own sponge.
Danny Matier 