Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Better in a Minute

I sleepily think about timing as I sleepily grope for a diaper. Our heavy curtains do their job well, blocking out the autumn city glow at 3am the way they blocked out the bright-til-11pm summer skies. I'm on the lookout for a small lamp or nightlight, but until then I turn my smartphone on and start changing Pippin by its light.

He wavers between anger and panic, convinced that every second of delay could be the end of the world. He's too young to understand that a 30 second soggy change now prevents a three minute blowout change later. It equally past his comprehension that washing my hands helps prevent hin getting sick, and that we pad from bedoom to living room so his papa can get some extra sleep and have more energy to play with Pippin tomorrow.

The most ironic moment of all comes when we finally settle on the couch, Pippin still upset. He resists as I try to replace his pacifier with a bottle. "Hey," I tell him softly, " the bottle is so much better." I know what I'm doing, even if he's freaking out a little. Finally he gives in and I smile sleepily, superiorly. He should just trust me.

And then I realise that he's not the only way who gets paranoid about timing. He's not the only one with vision limited to a few centimeters in front of him. He doesn't grasp that he is being taken care of, like always. He's not the only one who clings to what he has now, not caring if it jeopardises something better, later.

There's a lot to be learned at 3am, if you can stay awake long enough.

1 comment:

  1. Curled up in a hotel bed while the twins sleep (J is next door with the boys). It's dead dark (even the night light doesn't do much) and I'm about to give up on any writing attempts and just go to sleep, but I wanted you to know I love you, and I love reading your heart. And I wish I could hold your little Spud.