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"Dah tase. . . ooo, ooo, ooo," she sings as she watches the closing credits of "Duck Tales" which I video taped for her.
"Is it over honey?" I sit next to her. She nods. "Time for you to go to sleep." I caress her head.
"Noooo!" she squints her eyes and curls her lips. That face, again.
"Come on, baby. Here's your water. Let's turn off the T.V." She stares at me in contemplation and after a few seconds she stands up, walks to the T.V. and turns it off. "Good girl." I smile and watch her return my smile but I am completely convinced she has something up her sleeve. She walks to her bedroom, allows me to change her without a battle, and tuck her in her crib. I kiss her forehead and both cheeks. "You have sweet dreams now, and dream of angels." I move her bangs away from her eyes and she nods with a smile. "Love you princess".
"Wuwu mommy."
I walk out of her bedroom and sit on the living room couch. The large clock on the wall has its big hand on the seven and its small hand past the eight. I sit quietly and wait for my daughter's new escapade. When both hands of the clock are close to nine, I hear a thud. "She climbed out of her crib," I mumble to myself and rush to her room. I see her sitting on the dresser, with a photo album on her lap. How she could climb out of her crib and on to the dresser noiselessly in less than ten seconds, I have no idea; this child is surely talented. When she notices me, she points to a picture and smiles.
"Adju."
"Yes, baby. That is cousin Andrew, but he is sleeping right now so you have to go to sleep too, O.K." I grind my teeth and force a smile.
"O.K." she replies, shuts the book and places it under her arm. I pick her up, tuck in her crib again, and take the album away from her. "No," she shouts and stands up, crumbling her already crumbled covers. "Adju, boo!" she persists.
“Mommy has to put the book away, so cousin Andrew can continue to sleep," I put the book on the shelf and she continues to shriek. What a weapon! Since I've been so firm with her for such a long time, I decide not to give in to her again. Perhaps, someday before her twenty-fourth birthday, she'll learn to listen and obey -- as my mother asserts.
"Adju, mommy. Adju now!" she demands as her famous tears cover her face.
"Andrew is sleeping sweetheart." I try to make her lie down. No success, of course. Each time I put her down, she springs up. Between her tears, her "nooo's," her "Adju's," and her "Boo's" she manages to continue arguing with me until 9:56."Honey," I finally say exasperated, unable to understand where she gets her energy. Since she does not receive it from food, maybe a little spirit possess her and convinces to her never agree with mommy. "Do you want some more water?" I appeal, hoping she'll forget about the album and go to sleep. She nods.
And why didn't I give the poor child the stupid book and let her sleep with it? Because if I had, she would have sat in her crib and taken out all the pictures one by one. There are four pictures in each page, and there are fifty double sided pages. That makes a total of four hundred pictures. It's not easy to arrange four hundred pictures, especially if most are crumbled, torn, and chewed. She had to go to sleep.
"O.K. sweetheart. You lie down, and mommy will bring you some water." She curls up in her crib, and I tuck her in, again. As I am ready to leave the room, I hear her famous, "Babbie."
"Do you want the Barbie doll?" I turn to face her. She nods. “O.K. you stay there and mommy will bring Barbie to you." She nods again and I walk out of the room. I fill her bottle with water and look at the clock on the wall. 9:56. Why do I look? I really don't know. Every time I leave my daughter's room, I look at the clock; it has become a ritual. I place the bottle on the table and start a wild goose chase to find miss Barbie; not under the couch; not under the table; not under the chairs; not in the pots and pans cabinet; not in the bathtub. The search continues until I find the treasure inside the silverware drawer. Smart kid. I return to her bedroom, and find her on top of her dresser, taking pictures out of the photo album. Enough is enough.
"Didn't mommy tell you to stay in your crib?" I say firmly. There's that word again. My mother would either be proud of me or smack me.
"No," she answers, putting on innocent face and she is actually right. All I said was "stay there," not "stay in your crib." "There," therefore, could have meant "anywhere in your room," or "anywhere in the house." I grab the pictures from her, toss them in the book, and throw the book on the floor.
"Adju?" she smiles her angelic "I'm a good girl and you should feel guilty for yelling at me, you bad person you" smile. I want to hug her and kiss her and allow her to ransack the house, but I don't. And believe you me, it takes a lot not to. I pick her up, put her in the crib, give her the bottle and the doll, and tuck in Barbie with her -- for what seems to be the zillionth time. I ask her to go to sleep and she nods smiling that smile of hers. I walk back to the livingroom and look at the clock. 10:13. Gosh, I wish she'd go to sleep so I could go to sleep.
Sitting on the couch and trying to read a commercial junk novel to relax my brain, I notice my eyes closing. I look at the clock. 10:41. Maybe she's asleep, I pray as I tiptoe to her bedroom; she is lying in her crib, the bottle sticking out of the corner of her mouth, and her arms extended in front of her face. It seems as if she's counting her fingers. I tiptoe back to the living room and stretch on the couch.
Next thing I remember is opening my eyes and looking at the clock. 11:28. Oh, no! Had I fallen asleep for close to an hour? I rush to the baby's room and, to my surprise, she has her eyes closed. Asleep? I walk closer to her crib and put my finger under her nose. Good. She's breathing. Good. She's finally asleep. Time to get some shut eye. As I curl under my blanket, I can't help but feel guilty. How could I be so irresponsible? The fact that I have been up since 5:00a.m., does not make a difference. What if something terrible had happened? Who, but I, would be to blame?
[B][align=center]End of Part II[/align][/B]
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