How I came to hide at the foot of the bed
“How do I find time to write?” I wonder to myself as I ponder over the various writing tasks I just can’t seem to get done. There are thoughts jammed in my head that I wish to pour out on this blog and I only dream that one day, someone invents the thought-to-text converter to make that task easier. I want to write reviews of African folktale books I’ve read for my folktales site. And I want to try my hands at writing articles for pay, if only I could find time to write the articles.
Everyday this past week, I would plan that “this” would be the day I sat down to write. But sometime after getting back from work, getting dinner into Darling Angel and Baby Brother, reading with Darling Angel, getting next day’s stuff ready, all my energy would be drained and I collapse into bed to repeat the process the following day.
But on Thursday, I was so exhausted and I fell asleep early. Darling Angel’s cries as she stood over me, trying to shake me awake crept into my subconcious. It was like a dream - she was crying but I couldn’t wake her to ask what the matter was. The following morning she told me in a high-pitched whine, “Mommy! I wanted to read you my book and I need your help because it has big words but you didn’t wake up!!” Anyway, I had a good sleep and I woke up well rested and early.
I woke up early. It was 3:30am. “What to do with this time?”, I wondered. “Write!”, I silently exclaimed to myself, excited. Baby Brother is laying next to me, he’s still cosleeping. I get out of bed and pick up my laptop, then I sit on the floor at foot of the bed. I make myself comfortable and begin to type. I pledge to do this everyday - early to bed, early to wake, to write before the day begins.
Fifteen minutes had barely passed when Baby Brother began to grunt. “Ma”. “Mo”. A little cry. “NO. Please No! Please do not wake up”, I screamed in my head as I ducked my head down. He mustn’t see me. I prayed, “please God, let him go back to sleep”.
There I was, crouching at the foot of the bed, hiding from my one year son, holding my breath, praying that I would not be discovered. And then, silence.
I waited some more to be sure, then I let out the breath I was holding and raised my head up. To meet the gaze of the boy, sitting up patiently, quietly, thinking in baby thoughts, “mommy, I’ve got you”. He threw his arms up (”carry me” signal) and let out a scream. I held him and tried to comfort him. He needed some milk to forgive my transgression. We took a trip downstairs to get him milk. I held him, I fed him as he calmed down.
As he went back to sleep, I looked at the time. Somehow, time had passed quickly as it often does. It was a quarter past 5. I needed to start getting ready in another 15 minutes. I felt tired. I layed back in bed, hoping a 15 minute power nap would reenergize me. 15 minutes stretched into 45. I start out my day already behind time. I guess nothing changes.
