Wake Up, Dad!
Posted by Matthew Archbold in Family on Monday, March 16, 2009 6:10 PM
Here’s how I wake up every morning. My wife lays the one year old on the bed next to me. The baby gently places her hands on my chest, leans in towards my closed eyes and blares, “Wake up Dad!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Now to be honest it sounds more like “EggapDaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!” But she gets the point across with window rattling volume.
My wife thinks it’s very funny. I consider it alternately cute and sadistic depending on the morning. But I smile at the baby even when I’m grumpy and the baby laughs that wonderful baby belly laugh. Sometimes I’ll fake asleep just so she can wake me. It’s one of our games. And there’s something wonderful about the little routines we have with babies. It’s our way of showing them we can be counted on. But mainly it’s because they’re just so cute when they’re laughing.
And so started my Sunday. EggapDaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!! I was tired and grumpy but smiled through it. One by one the four other children came down the stairs, we ate, dressed, and we were off to Mass.
But this week something unprecedented happened. The children were all good. And not just a little good. Good enough that I could actually pay attention to the Gospel and the homily. The three older girls silently stared forward, the boy’s shirt stayed tucked in, and even the baby who was standing next to me on the pew quietly toyed with the two wee pigtails sticking straight out of the sides of her head.
When we stood I lifted the baby up in my arms and she looked up at the sun playing on the stained glass. When we were asked to pray our own special intentions I bowed my head and closed my eyes. I earnestly prayed for my wife, my children’s faith, patience. Then I felt the baby shift and gently place her hand on my chest and lean in towards me. Oh no! But it was too late. My eyes were closed ...
“EggapDaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!”
Gasps from the pew behind me. A look of horror from my wife. Titters from all over the church. And yes the priest even made eye contact with me. It was that loud.
I looked at the baby and she started laughing. I quickly shook my head and gave the baby my disapproval face. You know the one we all do with the furrowed brows and pursed lips. And the baby’s smile vanished, her bottom lip protruded, her eyes teared up and then … (oh please no) the crying. Aahhhhhhhhahh ...
Okay. Pick up baby, walk quickly to back of the Church, notice the three year old following us with his coat on his arm (where did he think we were going?), take his hand, squeeze past the “we’ve been there” stares of the ushers, and escape into “the bad baby foyer” where I paced and hugged the crying baby.
The boy paced beside us and reached up to touch the baby’s foot, saying, “It’s O.K. baby.” His shirt came untucked as he did so. The collapse was complete.
The baby eventually stopped crying and was just doing those little sobby baby gasps by the end of Mass.
At home she was happy again but I felt terrible about what happened. Don’t get me wrong. I frequently employ the fiercest furrowed brows. But for other things. I know it sounds weird but I felt like I changed the rules of the game on the baby and ruined our little routine. I know one day our little routines will be over but I hoped not yet.
This morning I listened as the baby was laid down in bed next to me and I felt her hands on my chest and her breath on my face.
“EggapDaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!” And I was never so happy to be woken up in my life.
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