I know what you're thinking. You're thinking , "AAAWWwwwwwwwwww!" Because evolution has hard wired us to have hearts that turn to mush when we see sleeping children. No matter how wretched their behaviour has been, we can't help but think how beautiful they are when they're softly breathing their little breaths of sleep.
If you're a certain type of person you might also be thinking, "Oh dear GAWD! What a seriously unsafe sleep space!"--but then you probably don't have six kids, and probably haven't learned to accept sleep wherever, however it happens. Like I have.
Until now. I mean, I have undergone more sleep deprivation in the past thirteen years than if I had spent it in Guantanamo Bay or hell, even North Korea as a political prisoner. I have literally learned how to deal with years on end of not sleeping more than an hour or two in a row. One of the ways you deal with that is to accept sleep in whatever strange position or environment in which it might possibly happen. That might mean with a child draped across three laps while watching The Godfather. It might mean curled up and tucked away safely in their own bed. Or it might mean what it often means for us, baby is in a pile of pillows and blankets with random furniture moved closer to give me the illusion that it's safer. With the radio blaring. His oldest brother is convinced there are certain Beatles' songs which actually put the baby to sleep. My husband thinks I condition them to sleep to loud, punk rock music in the car when they are little.
But here I sit. Sincerely contemplating waking this little boy up. Seriously. Because the entire house is filling with the aroma of his poop, which he stealthily let fly as he fell asleep. It was one of those poops where it sneaks out all quiet and spy like, but then turns out to smell like a weapon of mass destruction. I am so conflicted with the thought of him sleeping with a poopy diaper. I know he'll be sore if I leave it. Gah. I am immobilised with conflict.
I can barely keep from gagging...but I mean LOOK at him.
Look how sweetly he is sleeping. And look how quiet and peaceful the rest of my house is. And look how my Dickens' novel is calling to me and reminding me that what I really want is some tea. And did I mention the quiet and the peace and the tea? Sigh.....let me go get the wipes...but first I think I'll put the kettle on.
