Caught

Kisu and I, we have a habit of popping into the baby's room to peek at her after she has gone to bed for the night. There are a a good couple hours between her bedtime to ours, and it started when I would go in every once in a while to check on her - well, pretense at checking - it's more to peer at her chubby cheeks, closed eyes and see what kind of cute position she has herself curled up into.

I got Kisu roped in as well and so each night we go in about three to four times. Most times she sleeps right through it, and sometimes she stirs. When she does stir - we drop to our knees, hope that we are obscured by the crib bumper pads and wait with bated breath, listening for any further sound. There's silence and we scuttle out of the room and pray that no crying follows.

Two nights ago, I did exactly the same thing. I was on my knees, crawling (yes, crawling) and had just made my way to the door when I heard a loud rustle from the crib. Fearing the worst, I turned back. In the half light of the room, I made out a round, mournful little face staring down at me.

There I was - on the ground on all fours, looking like I got caught with my hand in the cookie jar. The wailing started in earnest and I scrambled out the door. Thankfully, it was over in pretty much the same time it started.

So I got caught.

But I will continue to play this dangerous game each and every night.

I just can't resist - it's the Mummy in me.