What to do during naptime?

Rain was teeming down as Patrick let himself into the house one November afternoon. It had become his habit to stop by during the day in between calls to spend some time with baby Angela. He would never admit it to Shelagh, but he was secretly glad the baby was exclusively bottle-fed, as he was learning feeding her was a sweet joy. He hadn’t had the chance with Timothy, largely due to his workload, and had decided not to let any chances slip by.

The hallway was dim and quiet, and he realized he had intruded upon naptime, that most sacred of times to a new mother. He hung up his coat, removed his shoes and went to scrub his hands. Shelagh would have no germy hands in the house.

Patrick skipped the first squeaky stair and made his way to their bedroom. There were no sounds coming from behind the half-opened door, so he peered around to see. He smiled widely when he saw Angela cuddled in her tiny cot, and just next to her on their bed, his wife sound asleep. He wouldn’t wake her, her last few nights had been spent mostly awake pacing the floor. Quietly backing away, he began to close the door behind him.

“Don’t go,” Shelagh whispered. She blinked the sleep from her eyes, but he knew he was just a fuzzy image to her. He crept back into the room and slid on to the bed next to her.

“Hello,” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper. They had learned in just a few short weeks how to communicate without waking the baby.

“Hello,” she breathed back. “Sorry, it’s naptime, dearest. We can’t wake her. I’m trying to get her sleep cycle a bit more regular.”

Patrick pulled her closer. “That’s all right, sweetheart. I didn’t come to see the baby today.”

Shelagh eyed him suspiciously. “You didn’t?”

“Nope.”

She blushed. “Then who did you come to see?”

Patrick’s nose nuzzled behind her ear. “My beautiful wife. We haven’t spent any time together in days.” The emphasis he placed on the last word made Shelagh giggle.

“Really, Patrick? Days? We spent hours playing Monopoly with Timmy just last night.” She squirmed as his hand travelled down her back to her hips.

“I know. With Timothy. We were interrupted later by this little angel, if you remember.” Successful with her zipper, his hands were coaxing her skirt ever-so-slowly down the length of her thigh now.

“Patrick, we can’t.”

“Shelagh, we can.” He caught her lips in a slow kiss, using an argument that won far more often than words. When he finally released her from his sweet torture, Shelagh whispered,

“What if we make noise? We’ll wake the baby.” But her own hands were betraying her, working the buttons of his waistcoat free.

“Let’s have a contest, then. We’ll play the Quiet Game.” Her purple jumper was sliding up over her torso now. “See who can stay quiet the longest.”

Patrick’s tie followed his waistcoat to the floor, and Shelagh pushed his braces over his shoulders. “That’s not fair, Patrick. You do such things…” Her hands found their way under his shirt to the smooth skin of his back. “I can’t help myself.”

Baby Angela stirred in her sleep. Patrick and Shelagh stopped exactly as they were, holding their breath. After a moment, the baby settled herself back down to sleep.

“Oh, Patrick,” Shelagh gushed. “She’s done it. She’s gotten herself back to sleep.”

“Wonderful, darling, but we have a game to play.”

Neither were surprised when Shelagh lost the game. But Patrick really wasn’t playing fair.