Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Coda

It's the last morning we'll be without her Daddy and L wakes up screaming at 5:52am. To be clear of the scope of this calamity, 5:52 is about 38 minutes before I want me to be awake, and about 68 minutes before I can usually expect either L, or her sister who will surely awaken from this noise, to join me in awakeness.

She screamed and screamed nonsensically but she was awake. Her eyes were open and following me, upset. I picked her up and her screams became pointed: No, Mommy! No, Mommy! She wriggled out of my arms and flung herself to the floor where she continued writhing and screaming.

No, Mommy! No, Mommy! No, Mommy! No, Mommy! No, Mommy! No, Mommy! No, Mommy! No, Mommy! No, Mommy!

I tried to touch her. She rolled away and screamed. No, Mommy! I tried to shush her. No, Mommy! She screamed louder.

I sat on the floor next to her and watched her scream. She screamed until she was sweaty and hiccupy and red-faced. And then, as inexplicably as she began screaming, just as inexplicably she sat up and stopped.

"I love you, sweet girl, and I am sorry I don't understand what you want," I told her. She just looked at me.

"Do you want to climb up in my bed with me and snuggle?" She just looked at me.

"Do you want to go back into your crib?" She didn't speak, but that look was reproachful.

"Do you want a hug?" She looked at me. She climbed up in my lap. I held her in my arms and we rocked. Pin It

1 comment:

Emily said...

Mornings like these are hard, but somehow I think rocking through those early upset hours bonds you together in a way that's different from anything else. (Which is something I'm always looking for with my own little daddy's girl, also our second child)