It's late. Putting the baby to bed turned into an epic task. Thinking back to before Christmas it seemed that at 7:30pm we would lay her gently in her cot and she would roll over and close her eyes, ahh. bliss, what a good baby.
It can't have been as easy as that, I know, but the holidays definitely have disrupted her sleeping pattern. Tonight, as I tidied the living room and washed the dinner plates, I listened to Shortie shouting and throwing her toys out of the cot. Peeking round the door I could see by the night-light Shortie standing in the cot bouncing up and down, grinning that cock-eyed grin that means she is grinding her teeth. Awake. Lynne sat by the cot looking exasperated.
An hour of that and then I took her and spooned her on the bed. The baby, not Lynne. This means pinning her down while she moans, until she gives up and goes to sleep. She shakes her head, screwing her eyes up and pulling her ear, anything to keep herself awake. I watch through from under my eyelis, my eyes half-shut so that I don't make eye contact. That would be an invitation to laugh, play and pull at my face. She is gone in five minutes. What a performance.
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