This morning at 10 AM I awoke to find my mother standing over me. She’s watching Sophie and I sleep. She hovers. She has some sort of satisfied smile, like a big fat bear contemplating a helpless honeycomb. I am not quite wake-ready. I snuggle into my daughter and pull her close to make room for another body. My mom gets in the bed and tugs Sophie over to her, whispering about french toast and breakfast sausage and are you ready to wake up? But Sophie snakes her hand up my mom’s sleeve and sucks her thumb and won’t quite budge. My mom is persistent. Offering to carry Sophie downstairs. Wooing her. Finally, Sophie’s eyes open, she sighs, and she climbs out of bed, sleepy-warm and ready for a hot homemade breakfast.
I get the distinct impression my mother “harvested” her grandchild this morning.