Keira has rather abruptly decided that she no longer requires an afternoon nap. This saddens me because that was once my sanity-regaining part of the day: with the two children in bed, I would retire to my own for a brief time to make up what Riley still leeches off of me of a night-time.
Now if I do put her to bed, her stamping on the walls with her feet, or playing with the curtains after ten minutes indicates she’s not going to go off, and I reluctantly admit that I will have to entertain her.
This usually entails me lying prostrate on the couch while she dallys around me with the strict instructions to be quiet so as not to interfere with Oprah on the TV (yes, I’m admitting it). I will endure anything for a moment’s rest, even “hairdressers” where she pulls my hair from the roots and chiding me by saying “Its OK, mum” like I chide her of a morning. Or she sings me a lullaby.
This latter activity can be quite enjoyable. I shut my eyes, she leans in close enough for me to smell her puppy-warm breath, and she strokes my hair, causing tingles to go down my back. She begins, “Twinkle twinkle little star” and I’m about ready to wish this feeling could be bottled up and sold as natural Prozac.
Yesterday was no different: “Twinkle twinkle….” she whispered and I’m relaxing…
….then silence….
…a quick indrawn breath…
ACHOO!!!
She sneezed all over me. I am covered in snot. I feel like Bill Murray in Ghostbusters (“He slimed me.”)
She sure did.
Quiet time over. “Mop up in aisle 5!”
