(I’ve decided to temporarily discontinue updates on the Facebook about new blog postings because I’m worried that readers are on overload from me. I’m feeling a bit insecure and overexposed circa Britney Spears and her 2008 streak of photos exiting cars commando. I’ll wait until my publicist says the coast is clear.)
Watching Greta sleep at night is one of the happiest moments in my typically uneventful daily routine. The position is always unpredictable. She could be contorted like a yogi master on her side crammed into the corner. She could be on her back in the center of the crib, her chest moving ever so slightly as she breathes. Like any child’s face to his or her parent, G’s during sleep is precious, innocent, and angelic.
When Greta is sleeping peacefully, I imagine she is dreaming of limitless quantities of formula in a bottle that she can swipe away yet never leaves her mouth. Or possibly endless bath time with Mr. Crab, Timmy the Turtle, and Jenny Jellyfish. Maybe a crib piled high with cell phones and remote controls for unlimited gnawing and chewing.
It surprises me, though, that her restless sleeps aren’t more frequent considering her days are basically fodder for bad LSD trips. Think about it. Constant exaggerated facial expressions by mom, dad, or BFF Kate with over-the-top, wide eyed smiles. Songs with confusing topics like bags of wool, spiders walking up spouts, and bridges collapsing in London. Words for letters, numbers, and colors in Spanish. It’s amazing she can get any sleep at all.
The next best thing to watching her sleep, is greeting her when she wakes up. Kicking her legs, babbling, and rolling around, she looks up at me with a drooly smile and a pterodactyl screech. Maybe my daily routine isn’t so uneventful after all…