Random ramblings and TV-inspired activities

Monday, 29 August 2011

My preferred way of waking...

...is not to a refrain of "Help! Help! Help! Help! Help!".

I prise apart my sleep-encrusted eyes, to blearily gaze at the muted green glow of my alarm clock. 06.50. An ungodly hour for a bank holiday. The plaintive cries for help hold neither terror not pain, so really, do I have to get up to deal with it? A glance to my left: the male parent lies stonily unconscious. I envy that gift for deep sleep.

I try and ignore the depressingly chirpy shouts. "Help! Help! Help!" No-one shouting for help should sound that happy. (Don't get me wrong: as a mother I want my children to be happy. But if they're calling for help, dragging me from my bed, then, I don't know, maybe a little bit of misery would make it seem less irritating?) Igoring the noise proves impossible. An alarm clock that went "Help! Help! Help! would surely be more effective than the standard "Beep! Beep! Beep!".

Regretfully casting aside the half-promise of sleep my duvet's cosy folds offer, I stumble down the hallway. A beaming face greets me as I blunder into my daughter's room with an ungracious "What?!". Am I chastised in the face of her obvious delight to see me? No. My grumpiness has settled on me like a scattering of dandruff.

She's clearly pleased with herself. "I shouted help, didn't I mummy?"

"Yes. Do you need help?"

"Yes. I need to sleep in your bed." In my world, this is doesn't qualify as an emergency warranting the waking of your mother, but I don't tell her this.

"No you don't. It's too early. Go back to bed, or play in your room quietly, okay?" I ask, leaving before she can answer.

I crawl back to bed, the cries of help now replaced with the siren-like "Aaaaa Hooooooo. Aaaaaaa Hooooo. Aaaaaa Hoooooo." This is what my 2 year old thinks crying sounds like, when she's not actually crying.

Five minutes later, as I resign myself to the fact that the day has started and sleep is behind me for at least the next 14 hours, I am cuddled up with a warm, wide-awake toddler in my bed. It is quite cosy, I concede. And at least she lies quietly. I can imagine these are the moments I'll miss when she's older, and cuddles are no longer cool... I tell myself that, just before she starts poking me.

"Get up mummy. Get up mummy. Get up mummy..."

Ah. Kids.


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