I sense the Johnson boy sleeping arrangements will require adjustment in the very near future. For quite some time now there has been some brotherly disagreement at bedtime. On an almost weekly basis, the Gort will walk downstairs with one of the following complaints: ‘Henners is scaring me’ or ‘I need somewhere (else) to sleep.’
And the Hen, having the maturity of a two and a half year old, eats it up. The Gort hasn’t yet figured out that if he’d just ignore the roaring, it would cease. Saying things like: ‘stop scaring me’ and ‘if you scare me again I’m going to tell mom’ only adds fuel to the little man’s fire.
So there are lots of nights that end with the Hen roaring. And the Gort making idle threats. And, very occasionally, falling asleep somewhere else – like at the foot of our bed or on the floor in the baby’s room.
I’ve noticed lately that the two year old also chatters to himself quietly in the very early hours of the morning. Like around four o’clock. The monologue lasts for about five or ten minutes and then he must drift off to sleep again, because it’s quiet until he sees a sliver of daylight and decides it’s fair game to wake up the household.
As I lay in bed the other morning – awake – I heard the Hen in all his early morning glory.
‘Whe my dummy, mom?’ He asked with the wavering voice of a 70 year old woman. Even though I was ‘sleeping’ in the room across the hall.
‘Uh oh I tooting,’ he mumbled. More to himself than to his semi-comatose audience
‘GAGA…..GAGA…..GAGA’ he crowed in a voice that could scare a grown man.
The Gort must have mumbled in the affirmative because I then heard: ‘C’you get my dummy?’
‘I don’t know where it is’, my oldest replied.
‘Over der….n’the floor,’ the Hen insisted
‘I don’t see it,’ the Gort refused. Two can play the exasperation game, apparently.
‘Daddy, my dummy!’ the Hen moved on.
‘Daddy, my dummy!’ he reiterated when his father didn’t rush to his crib-side to find the lost pacifier.
‘Mommy I wan cookie!’ he decided.
‘Mommy I wan cookie!’ he called again.
Curiosity dragged me out of bed to their room. I wanted to see why the kid was asking for a cookie at seven o’clock in the morning.
He was sitting in his crib staring at his brother. Who was lying facedown on his bed; fake-munching on something.
‘I’m pretending to eat a cookie,’ he explained when I asked what he was doing.
‘We should totally have more children,’ I mumbled to the professor.
‘Sure, you can have more….with your second husband.’