The Tale of the Standoff

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The night before last the baby ended up in our bed (she was in our bed last night too, but that’s not the night I want to talk about – just stay with me). When “morning” came – technically 5:45 IS morning, just not the part of morning I want to see – the baby awoke. It was at this time that the husband and I entered into The Standoff.

As baby went from parent to parent for cuddles, face slaps (from her to us) and kisses (from us to her), we each determined to be the one to stay in bed while the other got up with the child. Each of us mentally made our case for an imaginary judge, certain that our argument for extra pillow time was clearly stronger than the other. Each of us feigned sleep while the other one was being used as a jungle-gym. Each of us clung more desperately to the bed, silently wishing the other would cave first.

Finally my husband was spurred into action. He got up without the baby, forcing me to also get up (“Oh, I’ll get up, but I am taking you with me”).

Well played, Sir, well played.

I should add as a post-script, my husband claims he merely got up to have a shower and meant no ill-intent. But his handsome face and dimpled grin do not fool me, the slyness of the fox lives in him. No, I am not fooled.

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