How do I take her batteries out?

I love to talk. Talking is my game. And there is no one I like better to talk with than a fellow talker. The more you talk, the more I talk, the more we talk together. It's a love fest.

But, my daughter takes talking to a whole new level. The child does not shut up. Not even for a minute. Let alone five. When I beg her to shut her trap for just a few minutes, just to relieve the pressure, just for a few, blissfully silent minutes, I am treated to a mouth noise similar to high pitched trills of Arab women in celebration. She can keep this up for about three minutes before she then has to go back to the spoken word.

This ceaseless talking begins before the break of dawn. Take this morning for example. At precisely 5:49 am I hear her tramping through my room saying, "It's morning. I'm aWAKE!!! [with the stress on the 'WAKE' part, of course] Still dark outside. Mama, wake UP. Mama, wake UP. Where's my book? I wanna read my book. Wake UP!!!"

With only one eye opened halfway, I groan out to her, "Still dark means still sleep. Come in here and go to sleep."

"I'm not sleeping. I'm aWAKE!!! I want my book. I want to see brother. Where is brother. Touch him. Touch him."

Now, this is serious. There should be no touching of the baby prior to seven o'clock in the morning. He needs to sleep. And if I am going to be forced awake while it is still dark outside, I'll be damned if I'm going to be awake and juggling a cranky, woke-up-too-soon, four month old. I intervene quickly just before she is about to lay on top of him.

"Here!!! Your book is here!!!" I reach for the book left on the night stand and hand it to her. "Please read it quietly. Do not talk. Do not wake your brother. It is still sleeping time." And then my eyes slammed shut.

If only ears had lids. And why the hell don't they? Perhaps not all people need lids on their ears, but by God MOTHERS do. They should magically appear after your first child is born. Kind of like that flap that used to be your abdomen just suddenly appears after you give birth. A belly flap is useless. But ear lids... that would be heaven.

Anyway, no sooner did my eyes slam shut then the baby starts screaming out in pain. Reilly has dropped the book on his head while he was sleeping. Not only is he awake, but now he is hurt and pretty pissed off about it. I reach out to move the book and soothe his aching head.

"I'm sorry Brother. Brother, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I dropped the book. I'm sorry. It's an accident. Accident." Sure, she's apologetic now. It gives her something else to talk about. But now I'm mad and tired and cranky and a bit hungry (postpartum dieting, ya know) and in my sternest not-even-6am-tone tell her to go back to her room.

As she sadly drags her feet back to her room, I feel a twinge of guilt. She is still talking, apologizing profusely. And talking about her book, it's whereabouts her main concern. Her cute pink jammies and her ringlets of red were too much for my soft, mushy heart. I tell her not to go. It was afterall an accident and I shouldn't have been upset with her.

Just as she is about to exit the doorway, she turns back, reaches out to the light switch and out from the ceiling pours the most blinding light I've ever seen. "Read my book to me?" she asks. "I wanna read my book. I turned the lights on to read my book. I hit brother with the book. It is an accident. I'm sorry brother. Read my book now, Mama?"

I beg her to turn the light off. "Brother is trying to sleep."

"No, Mama, Brother's awake. He's aWAKE." And with that she crawls into bed and lies on top of him, her entire two year old body on his slight four month old frame. Over her shoulder, through her locks of bed head, I see his big toothless grin beaming ear to flapless ear with love and adoration.

"Yep. He's awake now. Brother certainly is awake." With that, I climbed out of bed and we began our day... even though it was still dark outside.