The captor, the hostage and the Sixer...
This evening I was held hostage. It was harrowing. It was never ending. My captor is two...
It started off as any other normal bedtime. Puds went to bed nice and quickly as usual, and Pickles fell asleep after a story and about half an hour of negotiations.
I decided to get comfy and put my pyjamas on straight away. Mid way through getting undressed I turn to face my bedroom door and see Puds standing at his gate watching me in the dark. Just watching. "Bit creepy", I think. "Hello Mama, can have ras-bees?" whispers Puds. "Er, not right now sweetheart, perhaps you can have raspberries in the morning," I reply as I usher him back into his bed.
I tuck Puds back under the duvet, and pass him Winnie the Pooh to cuddle up with. As I lean over to kiss him goodnight, Puds' eyes fly open and he grabs me in a headlock. One hand is gripping my hair at the root and the other is stroking roughly down my face while he whispers around his dummy, "shhh Mama, time go nun-nights. Time go nun-nights..." Convinced I am shortly to become the victim in a made-for-tv horror film, I begin to panic a little.
I lie there for a few minutes waiting for his breathing to deepen, my forehead pressing against his increasingly sweaty cheek. Every time I think Puds has fallen asleep and I try to lift my head, his grip tightens on my hair and he begins stroking my face again.
As time moves on my mind begins to wander. What's left on my Christmas to-do list? How long until my knees give out from kneeling on the floor beside a toddler bed? When was the last time Pooh had a wash? A pungent smell is wafting up my nose from the much loved bear. Puds seems unconcerned as he buries his face into the dulled yellow fur and breaths deeply.
I'm starting to get a bit bored so I stealthily attempt to feel in my back pockets for my phone. I've left it in my bedroom. Rookie mistake. I decide to attempt to contact Chris who is sitting in the living room directly under Puds' bedroom. Surely my former Scout Sixer of a husband can remember what distress signals sound like? I tap out the morse code for S.O.S on the floor as surreptitiously as I can. I make a mental note to look into hiring a carpet cleaner in the new year after feeling the state of it under Puds' bed.
After about five mintues of intermittent tapping I am still trapped with no valiant knight in shining armor to rescue me. My back is beginning to give out, so I carry a protesting Puds to the arm chair and snuggle up on there. The movement has made him wide awake. I decide to try singing him a lullaby. I strike up a soft rendition of "I'm just a little black rain cloud", a favourite of his, but unfortunately this is met with a frown, a hand on my lips and Puds saying "shhh Mama, stop that noise". Simon Cowell has nothing on this boy.
More time passes, Puds is no closer to being sleepy and I have resorted to running through the stocking fillers in my head to save me from boredom. We decide to go downstairs.
"What's he doing up?!" exclaims a surprised Chris as Puds and I walk into the living room. I give a brief run down of what's happened. "Didn't you hear my S.O.S distress call?" I ask a little incredulously.
"Oh is that what it was", replies the ex-Sixer, "I thought it was just the neighbours..." I set Puds down next to Chris. "What are you doing?" he asks a bit surprised. "This is a hostage trade," I answer as I march out of the room, "tag, you're it." I leave him with a grinning Puds to be the next victim. Puds leers at Chris. "Whatcha doin' Dada?" he whispers...