On Sleep

I'm sure I did this more than once when I was a little girl, but I have tucked away in my memory a particular moment when I pretended to be asleep so my Dad would carry me to bed. I'm not sure what I had been doing before, or what happened when I got to the bed, I just remember being carried. It is still tactile enough for me that I can almost feel the slump of my back between his arms and see his glasses through my eyelashes looking down the hall as he walked toward my room. Even with my eyes half-open, I was sure he hadn't guessed that I was really awake and capable of scurrying to my bed on my own two feet.
Maybe that got me a little false confidence in my skills, because I haven't given up my attempts at fake sleeping since growing up. I have in fact found that it has resurged since I've had children. In the morning when I hear the distinct diaper swish and quick pad of my youngest, or the happy limp of my little girl, or the slow and distracted beat of my oldest toward my bed and I don't feel like opening my eyes yet, I'll let my kids whisper "Mom, Mom, wake up. It's morning time. It's time for breakfast" two, three or four times before I act like I'm conscious. Why? Beats me. I know that if I ignore them too long they'll pull themselves up onto my bed and start crawling onto my ribs and pulling at my face. I suppose I'm hoping that they'll get to a stage of independence where they feel like its not worth coaxing me awake and they'll all go clean the house and make me breakfast until I feel like getting out of bed.
So today I got my two youngest down for a nap and my oldest all set up watching a show about a talking parrot so I could get a pregnancy-excused snooze in the lazy boy in the living room. Just as I was falling asleep the neighbors from down the street knocked on the door with some treats for my family. They told me they were going wildflower hunting and I offered them a book of mine for identifying their specimens - but I couldn't find it. They said they would just stop by on their way back to pick it up if it surfaced. As soon as they were down the porch, instead of continuing the book hunt, I gave in to sleepiness and snuggled back into the cozy green softness of my chair. Forty-five minutes later I heard, "Sister Patterson." I didn't want to wake up. I was just getting to the best part of my nap. My little nappers were still blissfully asleep, my boy hadn't made a peep during his show. The moment had come to really prove my pseudo-sleeping skills. Surely this cute little neighbor girl of mine who had let herself in the screen door would wither at having to prod a Mom from down the street awake. After the first "Sister Patterson," there was a long pause and I waited to hear the screen door close behind her as she left. But then closer and louder, "Sister Patterson!" Then closer, "Sister Patterson!" I gave in. I oh-so-reluctangly gave in and pretended to jolt awake. She took a step back, "Uh...are you ready for us?" I think she smelled me out. I'm pretty sure she knew. Maybe it is time for me to just wake up.