So what if I was a
jellyfish in the middle of the night? So
what if my knees buckled at the sound of a baby crying? So what if I didn’t know how to change a
diaper. So what?
After a quick
second, though, I had gotten the courage.
“HONEY.” No, I didn’t say it that loud. It was more of a “honey” or even a “honey.” No caveman yet, ok?
She opened her
eyes. I could tell they were open in the
dark room for two reasons:
1. She was so tired, her eyelids creaked.
2. The red laser light of her anger flashed
around the room.
At this point, I
was wondering why Jonah wasn’t crying anymore.
I was also wondering why I was in the room, waking up Sunday and causing
a huge stinky commotion in the middle of the night.
Sunday was
wondering the same thing.
“I couldn’t get him
to be quiet.”
“You haven’t been
in there that long, have you?”
“You’ve been
asleep. You don’t know how long I’ve
been in there.”
“Matt, he’s been
screaming the whole time. I’ve been
awake.” I looked at Jonah with silent blame.
“I don’t know how
to get him to be quiet.”
“Try again.”
This “try again”
was said in about the same tone your mother uses when she says your first and
middle names. It’s a warning, a sign
that all three names will soon be used and then a fresh hell will be unleashed
in an unmerciful fury against which no one on the planet will be able to
withstand.
Sunday, the
merciful, was giving me a warning.
I didn’t get
it. “Well, I was hoping you’d help…”
“No. I am going to sleep and you are going to take
care of him.”
“Why?”
Here is the most
damning thing she’s said to me.
Ever. “Because you said you
would.”
That was it. No cave man.
No Jell-O spine. No
quitting. I said I would and I was going
to have to do it. Now, she was telling
me: “Suck it up and quit being a
baby.” I would have to engage in the
difficult things. I had to wipe that stupid look off my face, walk back into
Jonah’s room, and stay there until he passed out. Not because I wanted to, or because Jonah
needed it. I was going to plug in, raise
my IQ, and get to work because Sunday expected it of me.
As she said,
“Because you said you would,” I had no response. No reply.
Nada. I stood there, in the dark,
holding our baby with nothing to say.
You know what Sunday’s
response to my silence was? She rolled
over and went back to sleep. She was
snoring by the time I had collected my thoughts well enough to realize Jonah
was asleep, too.
I’ve thought about
that night for a number of reasons, and I’ve always asked why she confident
enough to go back to sleep. Some women
would have badgered me until I gave up my will to live or simply refused to ask
me to do anything from then on.
No, here are the
reasons I believe Sunday rolled over and went to sleep.
1. She decided that there could only be one
exhausted parent in Jonah’s life, and I had been chosen to be that parent.
2. She was not in the mood for my garbage. This one’s important. There are times when I absolutely need her to
swallow a big shovel full of my attitude.
I need it. There, in the middle
of the night, was NOT one of those times.
3. She knew that, if she took Jonah then, she
would take him for the rest of his nocturnal scream-fests. A kick from Jackie Chan couldn’t get me out
of bed if there was a chance that she would end up taking him.
4. She knew I could handle it. No emotional melt-downs, no hierarchy of
knowledge. Neither one of us knew what
we were doing, so it didn’t matter who was trying to get him to shut up. Our ignorance was parallel and
simultaneous. (That means that we walked
in oblivion, all at the same time.)
5. She knew Jonah didn’t care which one of us
got him back to sleep. He just wanted to
sleep. And since Sunday was the one in
the supine position, then I must have been the one who got him out of bed. Thus, it was my job to put him back.
6. She knew I’d do it. She knew it.
She didn’t have the fear that I’d forget, or I wouldn’t think it was
important or that I’d whine until she woke up again. She could trust me enough to take our small
baby back to his room, lay him down, and run quickly away before he started
crying again. She knew I’d do it.
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