There was a sort of patchwork quilt being layered across the kitchen floor, made up of knit blankets, burp cloths, receiving blankets, and even a dish cloth. I was desperately trying to find the bottom of my sink (always amazed at how quickly I lose it under a pile of plates, bowls, sippy cups, wine glasses, pots and pans, forks and spoons, and cookie sheets). Saturday morning and daddy is still sleeping. Even though Emerson has an entire room off of the kitchen, formerly known as our dining room, stuffed to the brim with train tracks, musical instruments, books, easels, blocks and stuffed animals, she insists on bringing the play party and all of the supplies that go with it to wherever I am in the house.
So this morning that meant we were together in the kitchen. When I glanced down and saw that she had created a "night night" space for her baby, I couldn't resist snapping a quick picture, both mentally and actually. She had layered and re-layered the blankets. This is part of the ritual. Yes, it is a ritual that happens many times throughout the day. Oh, to be one of her naked baby dolls. I swear they are always either sleeping or preparing to go to sleep! She is constantly putting them to bed, announcing to me, "baby going night night mommy."
I went back to scrubbing caked on scrambled eggs off of a pan. A few minutes later, I heard her say, "baby wants to hold my hand." I can't help but smile since this is what she has begun insisting on as part of her bedtime routine. After bath, brushing, and books, and after we count 1, 2, 3 and blow out the lights, her tiny hand reaches through the spaces in the crib searching for mine and she finds my fingers and holds on tight as she drifts off to sleep. This is now part of our bedtime ritual.
I catch glimpses of the bottom of the sink, although when I look at the counter, I realize there are more items that need to be added in, awaiting cleaning. Emerson has decided to pick up her baby, wrapped in about seven blankies, and is walking around the kitchen "wocking" her baby to sleep and singing. She catches her reflection in the door of the stove and stands there swaying, watching, and singing her version of "Rock-a-Bye Baby." She is watching her reflection, and I realize I am watching a reflection of myself.
Smiling, I add more soap to my sponge and begin to clean out yet another sippy cup (how many of these suckers do we have in this house?!), and mommy Emerson announces, "baby needs a diaper, baby did poo poo."
Yes, Emerson, a mother's job is never done.