"You!" Tracey came into the kitchen and snapped at me this morning.
"What?" I asked in a very good impression of our two year old using her new favourite word.
I really didn't.
"Last night," she sneered lovingly at me. "When the baby woke up." I must have continued to stare at her with a dumb look on my face because she went on. "At about 2am." I could vaguely remember the kettle boiling and covering up my back after a cold draft of wind, but that's about it. I certainly didn't open my eyes and look at the clock. "You woke me up to go fix the baby a bottle."
"I did not," I said confidently, although I admit there have been times over the past decade where I've accidentally woken Tracey up when my foot has involuntarily jerked at the sound of a baby's cry and struck my sleeping wife's leg. But it's not like I ever did it on purpose.
"Oh, it's not like you said 'Hey, Tracey, the baby needs a bottle' or anything obvious like that," she said in what can only be termed a mocking tone. "Oh, no. Instead you had your face all up in my ear and you were whispering 'Shhhh! Shhhhhhh!' louder and louder until you woke me up."
I went for the save. "So even deep asleep, I still attempt to pacify our baby. Wow. My subconscious never rests."
"You were waking me up!" She shook her head at me. "Don't pretend like you don't remember."
I really, genuinely don't.
But that doesn't mean I'm not going to claim it as a stroke of fatherly genius. I wonder if I can patent this - The Bruce Shhh Method. The BruShhh Method! Genius aside, it seemed I needed to dig myself out of a hole earlier than usual this morning.
I went for the usual bold-faced lie. "You know as well as I do-"
"Shhh!" hissed Tracey at me, and sat down to deliberately drink her morning coffee..
"-if I heard the baby cry-" I continued.
"Shhhh!" she interrupted again.
"-that I would immediately get up-"
"Shhhhh!" Tracey hissed at me loudly and pointedly. And I finally noticed a squawk coming from the bedroom.
At least she was grinning when I went to fetch our baby.