Tag: napping

Dozing

A baby with fat cheeks.

He was definitely still a baby, but was increasingly more independently busy. Increasingly, in this case, used as a multiplier for more. It was happening fast.

Walking was always at top speed so you’d call it running. There was jumping and dancing, too. Words, and sounds that mimicked words, would tumble from his mouth. They would have the cadence of conversation, and likely a meaning that was uninterpretable, for now. He could clearly convey, “No,” usually when admonishing the dog. “No, babau” or whatever he said that meant dog.

It was time for his nap–remember he’s still a baby–but he was using his found power of no on his mother. She needed him to stop being busy for a bit. She had some busy of her own to do. Also, he was tired and she wanted to stay ahead of that.

She lifted him up and gently placed him in the bed. He sat up. She knew if he stopped for a few moments, sleep would win. She stretched out next to him and put her hand on his little back. He turned his head toward hers, lifting his chin so he could see into her eyes. They were just like his.

She saw her reflection in his eyes. She whispered a little hushing sound just above his head. She looked at his big round cheeks, rosy pink in the center dissolving into the smooth, clear porcelain at his rounded chin and his tiny nose. She brushed her hand on his cheek. It was warm, fueled by his little furnace inside. He sighed a baby sigh, and she felt his body relent a bit.

She locked eyes with him. He wasn’t going to let her out of his sight. She thought his eyebrows were perfectly formed, a light brown hinting at auburn framing his green eyes. With those lashes. Those long curly baby lashes coveted by all the women. He blinked. It was starting. He blinked again. She answered with a slow blink of her own.

She loved watching him fall asleep. The long, slow blinks that would get longer and slower until his lids were too heavy and would not flutter open. She couldn’t move too soon, otherwise, it’s back to the coaxing stage. She rubbed his back. He lifted his little hand and placed it on her cheek. Her heart swelled. She knew he was sleeping when she felt the wet, warmth of his perspiration. He would flash just as he fell asleep. And then she, too, was asleep.

 

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Snooze

Yesterday I took a nap. Jesus, what a decadent indulgence.

I sat on the far side of the couch, stage left, and leaned closer to the pillows. One of the pillows is a vibrant red. The other pillow is plaid, with a gray green background striped by charcoal, black, some white and a few punctuations of a vibrant red. The reds almost match.

There are two blankets on the couch. One belongs to me and one belongs to The Beast. On GP (general principle for the uninitiated. This was one of my mother’s shorthands. I really like this one), I will NOT use the dog blanket. Not even to warm my feet.

The other blanket belongs to humans. It’s a heavy, knitted blanket that The Beast prefers, the rat bastard. So, to save it from dog-dom, I hang it stylishly over the back of the couch. The Beast does not have the wherewithal to make it his own.

Anyway, he already has his own. It’s fleecy and comfy and smells like dog. And I desperately want him to sleep on it if he insists on being on the couch. And he does insist. I especially want him to use his Beast-blanky if he’s been outside. In the rain. I do recognize that sometimes what I want just doesn’t make it to reality.

Anyway, I was leaning on the pillows and, like a teeter-totter, as one side of me went down, the other went up. I found my feet on the couch, just to my right. Fortunately I had kicked off my shoes. So clever.

As my feet came up, I sunk further into those pillows. My knees drew closer to my chest. I guess I must have been trying to be warm without grabbing the dog blanket. Even more fortunately, The Beast walked onto the couch. He can do that. He doesn’t jump up. He’s so big he just steps on the couch.

I’m glad that he joined me in that now my feet had a huge warm head on them. There was no more chill. I had already put on my house-hoodie (this is my version of Mr. Rogers’ sweater) so all I needed to do was place my feet under The Beast’s neck. His neck is big, and full of extra skin and super soft. His head and his shoulders are bony, but his neck? Like a baby blanket. Or a baby’s fur coat.

To be honest, I have no idea what happened next. This is the napping part. I assume that my eyes were closed. They may have fluttered a bit if I was dreaming, but I don’t remember a dream. I expect that my breathing became deeper and very regular. I think that I pushed my feet a bit further underneath The Beast. He didn’t really notice. He was napping, too.

So we napped at the same time. Together. When I lost track of time I could have been reading a book by the light of the window. (I wasn’t even pretending to read, that’s how good this nap was.) When I tossed my head back and opened my eyes, it was dark. Not yet time to brush my teeth, and enough time to watch a silly movie before bed.

In a life where there is always doing or thinking about doing, napping is the absolute anti-do. And dear Jesus, Joseph and Mary, it is fabulous.

Posted on by docthink 1