Last night Bella woke up around 2am needing to be changed. And if you read my last post, you know that after doing this she also has to nurse to be able to go back to sleep. Unless I want to listen to her scream in a non-nursed agony for an hour.
So I carry her to our Rock-a-Glider. As I’m sitting there, I have the same thought I’ve had for, oh, probably 24/25 years each time I’m in the dark. “Someone is going to reach out from under this chair and grab my ankles.” You know, the thought that makes you (at age 7) run and leap into your bed at night so they can’t catch you.
Normally, mature woman and mother that I am, I instantly pull my feet up under me and find the nearest blanket to wrap around them. Because a blanket forms some sort of a protective barrier from the evil under the couch. Same as the covers on a bed.
But this time, I stopped myself and sent my brain a firm command, “There is no one under the couch. A: No one can fit under there. B: You have been watching way too many episodes of Lost and have yourself all skitzed out. Do not tuck your feet under you.”
So I sat. And as I sat and rocked, I became more paranoid each time my feet touched the ground. I understood no one could fit under the chair – but what if it was some kind of very small person?
Nonsense, I scoffed. How did they get in here?
They followed me. Or came through a vent. Like the smoke monster.
Keep your feet on the floor or else.
I rocked a tad harder to make sure I was causing pain to the small person under the chair.
Finally done with nursing, I carried Bella to her bed, quite proud of the fact that I had forced my fear into submission. There was no one under the chair. I had not lifted my feet.
Then I realized the underside of her crib was certainly big enough for someone to hide under. A regular sized person. So I leaned forward while standing as far back as possible, quickly laid Bella in, jumped back before I could feel the bony hands trying to get me, and left.
I left my child with the evil person under the crib.