Nearly every morning I wake before The Baby Nickel, slowly inch my body away from his, and creep out of the room. I close the doors to the other kids’ rooms, and tiptoe downstairs, trying to miss the creaky floorboards. Once downstairs, I breathe easier, turn on some lights, start my coffee, head to the bathroom, and then SLAM---The Baby Nickel politely shuts the door to the bedroom before padding blearily down the hall. I dash madly back up the stairs, finger to my lips to hush any fussing, and lug him downstairs with me, defeated once again.
Fortunately I still have my other morning slam, one that is better suited to early hours and a quiet house.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my baby, quite dearly, in fact, but I do wish he would sleep just a tad bit longer in the morning.