Today was a long day. And tonight has been a rough night.
Two crying little ones, who refused to sleep.
Poor little Abigail- something was wrong. A nightmare, perhaps? She has so many words, for so many things, but still can't find the ones to tell me what's wrong when she's crying. But she clung to me, and wouldn't let go. So I held her- in the middle of the room, on the floor, in the glider. Finally we made our way to our bed, where she began to cry again, more softly this time, because she wanted to be near me, but not next to me- wrapped around me like a baby monkey clings to the underside of her mother. My own little monkey.
I held her anyway, as she lay there next to me, and begged of her to tell me what was wrong. She would only mumble through the binky, which I could not pry from her teeth, and turn her head away. Finally, she began to lay quietly and still, staring up at the ceiling.
"Fan." She said. I smiled. "Yes, Abby, there's a fan in here, too. Are you ready to go upstairs now?" A confident nod. "Are you going to go to sleep?" A more vigorous nod, this time.
So, up the stairs we went, and into the crib. And she even waited patiently for me as I dragged the bassinet back into the nursery from her room, where we had sat rocking a half-hour before. (She is enchanted with the music that it plays, and has to have it put on before I can leave her to sleep.)
After the music was put on, and more kisses were given "goodnight," I snuck down the stairs with my fingers crossed. As I hear the short, tinkling tune come to its end, there is silence. And I hope that my Monkey has sweet dreams, this time.