Raspberries at 2:30am

Last night Kelsey was exhausted. But not Harmon. He was wide awake. Or so he tried to convince us loudly, sadly.

So I got up, went over to to crib, and lifted the fussy boy out. He immediately stopped fussing and cuddled against my shoulder. I silently congratulated myself as Kelsey stared bleary-eyed in envy at my “magic touch”. But Harmon know better. He wasn’t going to go to sleep. Or so he tried his best to avoid.

He’d almost drift off, leaning on my shoulder and then sitting bolt upright in a moment of vertigo that we’ve all experienced on the edge of sleep. Then he’d bob his head several times. I composed a song about it, to the tune of a Beach Boys hit Barbara Ann:

Finally he leaned out and over, away from my body — usually an indication that he wants to lay down on his stomach across my arms and rest his head on my forearm. Which he did. He was going to go to sleep. Or so I thought.

Harmon closed his eyes. He was silent for a minute. He was going to sleep, but I didn’t want to move him just yet. He stirred a few times, then lifted his head, then laid it back down, drooling on my forearm.

Then he breathed out a sigh, making a small noise. Then he did it again, a bit more forcefully. Finally he got it. A big wet raspberry*, and then another, and another.

We were all laughing, and he was definitely wide awake. Finally, I gave him back to Kelsey, who was also wide awake now from laughing. She had the magic touch and put him back to sleep.

*Note: other names I’ve heard for “raspberry” are “zerbert” and “bronx cheer”, though the former is usually performed on the belly and the latter using one’s own hand.