Or thereabouts.
"I want bekon"
"I want bekon"
(louder)"Mama I want bekon! Bekon mama"
Cue the bleary-eyed stumble into Henry's room.
"What do you want Henry?"
"Bekon"
"Your blanket?"
"No! I want bekon. I want BEKON!"
"What? Bekon? Your blanket? You want your blanket? Where is your blanket?"
(howling) "Bekon! Bekon! I want some bekon!"
(incredulously) "Bekon? Bay-con? Bacon? You want bacon?"
"Yes. I want bekon. Now. Bekon now!"
I mean really. Being awoken by an earache, a poopy diaper or a leg trapped in the crib bars: all valid. But crying for cured meat in the middle of the night? My patience has limits. Of course the bacon hullabaloo has woken the other two members of this family and as we shimmy blankets and pillows and make room for two more bodies in the bed, I can no longer sleep because I'm trying to puzzle what he could have been dreaming about. Was he counting slices of peameal instead of sheep?
It all means I have a raving headache today - I am a ten-hour a night gal - and woe to us all if I'm denied my beauty sleep. The thing is, the real point of all this, I suppose, is that we are talking about having another baby. I'm waiting for a sign that I should or I shouldn't and the Super Eight ball is being maddeningly ambiguous. Being awoken by cries for bacon = not so good. Waking up in the morning in a tangle of little feet and arms and baby snores = kind of nice. Makes me almost stop thinking about bacon.
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