Hush little baby, don't say a word...

At the rude sound of the alarm at 6.30 this morning, I was instantly transformed into that belligerent, abusive 4 year old I apparently once was when it came time to wake up and go to school. Generally a sweet-tempered child (I think?) waking up was not one of my favourite things – and my poor dear mother tired of the cross little girl who kicked and lashed out at her to be left alone that she sent in My Father. Surely he wouldn’t tolerate these waking tantrums?
Sweet birdsong the music on the fresh morning air, it looked to be a perfect summer’s day – except for the dark stormcloud of a little girl that needed waking for preschool. As if it were yesterday, I can still feel my eyes clamped so determinedly shut that they may as well have been superglued closed with my desire to stay asleep. Even the duvet is something still so tangible, so real, that it is billowed softly around me like the warmest hug – but in walks my dear dad to end this perfection. He is irritatingly chirpy so that I want to sling him an evil look from my heavy lids but am too lazy to do even that! I remain locked in my sleepy cocoon in the vague hope that he’ll disappear. But no, he sits down carefully on the bed. Lovingly and gently shaking my shoulder and saying, ‘Come on, Lees, time for school.” Grrrr… and I can even hear a sunny smile in his voice which only fuels my four year old fury some more.
“It’s a beautiful day! Wake up!”
Nothing.
“Open your eyes, my darling.”
Nada.
“Lees, just have a look at me!”
This went on for some time, and I knew I could only be a little shit for so long before incurring some serious parental wrath. Wrenching my eyelids apart and twisting round from under my duvet, lo and behold, but what did I see? NOT my father! But a strange man grinning at me like a mad clown in his 1980s white safari suit. The fright lasted only a second, before the laughter spilled from in great big gusts, making me forget all about my quest to sleep in! Daddy had shaved off his omnipresent moustache!! And now his embarrassingly bare, smiling upper lip had me in stitches that to this day I could never, ever forget.

Staying on the subject of dads, let me tell you about my darling Craig and how he kept me up for a hefty chunk of the night with his turbulent, sigh-filled tossing and turning. At one point, I found myself poking him repeatedly in the ribs and threatening him with my most menacing, midnight voice, each word punctuated with a stabbing finger: “If (poke) you (poke) DON’T (harder poke) keep (poke) still (poke)…” and here I realised I was trying to intimidate him with something I’m sure he couldn’t care less about in his slumbering state: I was going to get out of our bed and go sleep in the spare bed in the spare room – until I realised I was too much of a coward to climb under those stiff, icy covers!
Our conversation this morning: Craig smiling, his eyes crinkling with being happy I was up with him – and me, haggard and unrepentantly grumpy, like a starving, mangy lioness waiting in the shadows to spring savagely upon her prey!

Lisa: “So, tell me, WHY were you so fidgety last night? You kept me awake, you know.”

Craig:(Sheepish look ) “I dreamed the baby was here already and she was crying and crying. WHEEEEEEHHHH, WHEEEEEEEH.”
I turn my nose up in a disgusted sneer at what he thinks a baby sounds like.


Craig: “And every time she cried, I turned around and knew that you’d get up to see to her.”

Lisa: “Nice one, Craig. Great stuff.” My arms are folded in an exaggerated display of horror and derision.


Hell – and Craig’s a naturally paternal kinda guy. Imagine what other men must be like!? Oh well. It’s just a dream. The reality is this: Layla Rose will be sleeping in our room for the first few weeks of our life what with my mom and his folks visiting: and he will NOT be able to simply turn over when she cries: he will be wide, wide awake, and I shall have my revenge.