Children at night time and the S word…
It’s 3:28am. I’m typing this in the Notes application on my iPhone. I’m in bed in the spare room. The dog is in here with me. She’s kind of annoyed that a large human is taking up so much of her usually empty double bed. Why am I here? Awake at this time? In the “doghouse?”
No, I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m not getting the cold shoulder treatment from my darling wife. I’ve been a good boy. I’ve washed and sterilised the bottles. I’ve put the bins out. Ok, I didn’t do the dishwasher because “24hrs in A&E” was on and I was too engrossed in whether 84-year-old Beryl’s hip needed surgery. It didn’t, thank goodness. After a few days, she went home and is back playing Bridge on Thursdays with the gang. So, no cold shoulders here. Just hot foreheads.
You see, the eldest has a temperature. He slept all afternoon. I came home from work and he had just woken up.
“How’s my big, brave boy?”
“Sick, Daddy.”
“Awwww. Where do you feel sick?”
“Just everywhere. I’m so, so sick. I couldn’t even play football today.”
“Oh, no. That is sick. Well, we’ll get you better. What do you need? Medicine? Manuka honey? A hot drink?”
“Can I play FIFA on the PlayStation?”
This conversation went on like this for a while. When it came time to get him back to bed, his temperature became a full-blown, red phone, medical emergency, requiring a team of trauma experts to be flown in from Cedars Sinai Medical Center in LA. Well, that’s how he behaved, not what was actually the case. A spoon of Calpol and a kiss on the “slightly warmer than usual” forehead should have sufficed but his antics were waking the three-year-old so we opted to shush him by letting him sleep in our bed with his mammy. This is why I’m in the spare room. With the dog.
But this doesn’t explain why I’m awake. Oh, it’s now 3:56am. It’s not that I’m that slow a writer, it’s just I’ve been attending to the reason I’m awake. She’s 1. She’s one half of a duo. She’s Anna. One of the twins. And she is why I’m awake.
A moan at 2:23am isn’t uncommon for Anna. Not a full-blown cry. Just a moan that signifies that she’s awake but tired enough to go straight back to sleep. Not this time. No. This one was the worst of all moans. It goes something like this.
Moan.
Turn over.
Silence for 20 minutes.
Moan.
Silence for 10 minutes.
Whimper.
“Blurp-a-durp dooooo”
Silence for 15 minutes.
Moan.
Cry.
Laugh.
Moan.
Silence.
Cry.
Wail.
Cry.
Whimper.
Moan.
Silence.
Screeeeeeeeeam!
Cue me running across the landing to pick her up from the cot before she wakes Nina. Too late. She’s up as well now, crying. Anna is in my arms, gurgling happily about “Blurp-a-durp”. Nina is upset because she’s not in my arms. My wife is texting me to see whether Anna’s ok and whether Nina’s been woken. Also, Andrew, patient zero (remember?), has asked her to ask me whether I could nip downstairs to get him an apple juice.
*takes deep breath*
I put Anna down. She howls. Nina is still howling so now there are two of them in it. I go downstairs. Get apple juice for Andrew and Calpol for Anna. I go back up and deliver the apple juice to patient zero. My wife asks about the twins. I whisper something about them being fine and go down and pick Anna up again. Carrying her on my hip, I lean into the other cot and console Nina. She lies down and goes back to sleep.
“Look at your sister, Anna! Why can’t you be like her and just stay asleep? Well? Have you anything to say for yourself?”
Anna leans her head back so she can see straight into my soul, says “Blurp-a-durp” one more time, squints and does the world’s loudest poo. The kids three houses up are awoken by this thunderous cacophony. Anna is very happy with herself.
“Operation Atomic Nappy” has been dealt with. Anna is back down in her cot.
She is quietly saying “Blurp-a-durp” to herself over and over but is not crying. Nina is asleep. Patient zero has had some apple juice and, I’ve just gotten a text to confirm this, is back asleep.
It’s 4:21am. That’s two hours since the first moan. The entire house, dog and all, has been disrupted by all this. Well, the entire house except the three-year-old, Samuel.
Oblivious to all the noise and drama, Sam has dozed through it all. And this is a disaster.
Why?
Because he is going to wake from a full night’s slumber at about 6:08am, see Andrew is not in his bed, start calling for him, wake me, the twins, Andrew and my wife. We’ll all be up for good then. Breakfasts. Bottles. Lunches. Uniforms. The day begins for us all. Well, all except the dog, who will stretch out on the spare room double bed, lick herself somewhere, yawn and go back to sleep for hours. The bitch.
What? She’s an actual female dog. I can say that.
Oh, it’s now 4:33am.
I am David Zachary John Moore. I am married to Tracy (who used to be Velcro Girl on 2Phat). We have four kids: Andrew is six, Samuel is three, Nina and Anna, the twins, are one. We have a dog called Lorna, a lurcher we rescued in 2005. She can leap a nine-foot wall in one go. I am tired.
