Flop and Whump
Jul 28
Flop.
Flop.
Sometimes, when my son lays on his back in his crib, he throws his legs up in the air and brings them down with a loud…
FLOP!
His crib sits against our bedroom wall. We don’t hear the sound of him, only the vibrating bass of his movements, like a distant drum.
FLOP!
It’s two in the AM. My now open eyes adjust to the darkness. I find my night focus. There’s the clock radio. There’s the light from the baby monitor.
FLOP!
I get up and set my feet gingerly on the creaky floor. I step over Nikki and go to his bedroom.
FLOP!
I peak in his room, turning up his dimming light just a bit. His little stubby legs lift up in the air, hold, and then come slamming down.
FLOP!
His eyes are closed and his thumb is lodged in his mouth. Is he awake? He must be.
As a result of his repetitious leg lifts, he has scooted across the length of the crib, his feet only inches away from the end.
The next flop takes him there. His feet knock against the wood.
WHUMP!
I continue to watch him, wondering what he might be thinking.
WHUMP!
Is he running the dream hurdles? Trying to fold himself in half for easy storage? Double-kicking the asses of twin baby ninjas?
WHUMP!
His eyes open suddenly and he pops his thumb out of his mouth.
He turns to me, recognizes my face and gives me a gummy smile, his two new bottom teeth gleaming in the low light.
I slide my hands under his tiny back and lift him back into the center of his crib.
He turns his head, places his thumb his mouth and throws his free hand across his face with a dramatic flair.
I return to bed and lay awake trying to shake my sudden fear of tiny, highly-trained ninjas. Every shadow in the room becomes one of these miniature killing-machines waiting patiently for the perfect moment to lodge a Chinese star into my unprotected forehead.
Just when I think I’ve got it beat, when I can feel my mind relaxing towards sleep…
Flop.