They must laugh deep down inside

Tonight, the baby got her bath and then ate and was drifting peacefully off to sleep in my arms. So, I sat her up to get that last burp before she was totally out. And, I ended up wearing most of what she had eaten. Lovely. Off to be changed, both of us, and then back into the chair with a super-happy and wide awake E. Cautiously, I let her eat again, hoping we wouldn't have a repeat performance. Content, she drifted off again and was soon that wonderful dead weight that sleeping babies are. Off to bed she went. No sooner had I tiptoed out of the bedroom, a car alarm went off. Right below the window. Un-happy and wide awake E. After shutting all the windows and reluctantly turning the AC on, we headed back to the chair. And rocked, and rocked, and rocked. Finally, she was that lovely dead weight in my arms again. I slid slowly out of the chair and began the shuffle towards the bassinet. It's a very calculated shuffle, only the feet can move, and perhaps a little sway of the hips, but nothing of the upper body can so much as twitch. The bedroom was dark and I silently congratulated myself for navigating around the chair and between the bed without stubbing my toes. And then it happened. Out from under the bed, shot the furball known as Rascal. He had all the room in the world, but clearly, between my feet was the most logical path to take. In a desperate attempt to catch my balance without flailing my arms wildly, and thusly dropping the baby, I twisted around to land myself sitting on the bed and managed to knock a whole stack of things off the chest. Which promptly woke the baby. And she cried. The bottom-lip-quivering-make-you-want-to-cry-too-cause-it's-so-pitiful cry. She was, of course, wide awake.

So, again I shuffled down the hallway and back to the chair, where our new little routine started all over again. And the cats slept soundly at my feet, most likely plotting their next ambush.