Playing Possum

The other day, a friend commented on her Facebook status that her daughter wants to be an Aggie.

I started to reply that her daughter is a genious.

A genious.

GeniOus.

Irony.

I love it.

It doesn't take a genIUS to see the irony here either.

Miss Princess and the Pea is not impressed with her bouncy seat. Or her swing. Or tummy time. Or the objects we dangle above her in an effort to find something that makes her as content as being snuggled.

I was so good about putting our boys down before they fully fell asleep so they'd learn how to sleep without being held. I don't know what it is about this child okay, let's get real, she is my last baby, y'all, but it is as if I've swallowed a huge bunch of asking for it because I'm having a hard time putting her down and letting her soothe herself. And my sleep habits are paying dearly for it. She has perfected the method of appearing to be deep in sleep, only to jolt awake mere minutes after I've laid her down.

The other night, we went through several rounds of such exercises. Just when I thought she was deep asleep and it was safe to put her down, I'd hear her crying and we'd hit repeat.

That same night, I discovered this opossum shortly after our dogs did.
No question this poor baby was dead by the time I snapped this, but, just seconds before, there wasn't any blood and I began to wonder if it was playing possum. It was lying very still and its breathing had become shallow.

Intrigued, I watched and waited for it to show some sign of life, in awe of it's ability to stay so still because it was DEAD, Jen.

I glanced over at this little girl lying on the couch.

I had just spent half the evening putting her down just to discover her wide awake and wanting to be held a few minutes later. She would lie very still and her breathing would become shallow...

I looked out at the possum. I looked at her on the couch. I looked at the possum. I looked at her.

And then it dawned on me. Our daughter has perfected playing possum.

Genius.