Hostage

No one panic.

Please don't call in the authorities.

But Brendan and I were held hostage last night.  In our own room!

It started off like any other night.  Lights out.  Covers up.  Heads snuggled warmly on pillows.  

Then...

a noise.

And another.

Fear gripped us.  The cold sweats started.  We froze.  And then we did something we never do.

we whispered.

Would we hear the noise again?  Who would go check?  

There it is again!

It's moving!!

shhhhhh....

shut up you're talking too loud.

We negotiated with each other about who would go look.  Who would sacrifice a possible hour or two to make the noise stop. I buckled down and prayed to the Lord that the noises would go away, that we could resume covers up and heads down and normal heart rates.

God said no.

He said it clearly, because then our captor really got angry.  He didn't like our whispers or snail-slow movements.  He didn't like that we weren't taking him seriously.  Hello?! He said.  I'm here! You can't ignore me, I'm NOT GOING AWAY.

What do you want? We were still whispering, because maybe, just maybe he'd still go away.

I want a new diaper, a bottle, a jet plane, a pacifier and for you to hold me for 45 minutes in the rocking chair!!! WAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

We weren't whispering anymore as much as hissing.  Where's the bottle?  Is this one okay?  Do you think he has a tummy bubble? Is it cold in here?  

We got ready and then paratrooper-style tumbled out of bed to face our adversary: GO GO GO!  One of us tackled the adversary from his hiding space in the bassinet.  The other went under heavy fire to the kitchen, to retrieve the life-saving liquid gold.  Together we ended the siege.  

And it was the weirdest thing--in the morning, it was just Brixton laying there, all happy and wide-eyed.  Hope he wasn't disturbed.