Sunday, May 29, 2011

Sunday morning...

Screeching lifts me from my sleep/coma.

"Daaaaadeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Daaaaaaaaaaaadeeeeeeeeeeee. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeleeeeeeeeee."

I push Mark with my foot. He grunts, farts, and rolls over.

"Mark. The house is on fire."

"Mmmmmfrrmmmmmmmmm. Hot wings. Mmmmmmphrmmmp."

I roll my eyes, push him again with my foot.


(translation: Daddy, Lily. Dude, I totally pushed you out with your gigantic head and NO WORKING EPIDURAL. Throw me a bone and call ME for once, huh?)



I get up, yank my hair into a bun, and stuff my glasses onto my face. I squint at the clock.


What the?

I mean, really, son? Really? Is this who you are? Waking your mother up at 5:55 am?

I stumble to the kitchen and start the coffeemaker.

Yes, I started the coffeemaker before I made his bottle. I have standards, yo. Mama and coffee go together like cheeseburgers and peanut butter. And also, the coffeemaker makes a huge grinding noise that scares the little tyrant and I was feeling a bit hacked off. So, there. I am vindictive at 5 am. Who knew?

Warm the milk for the little creature, stumble into his room. Realize the bottle is leaking. Say things that are definitively inappropriate at 5 am on a Sunday. (my apologies, God- but it's 5 am. I mean, can you believe this child?)

Refill a new bottle.

"Daaaaadeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!" Ummmmm hello, breasts and womb. One who carried you and pushed you out. Nursed your little early teething self. Can I get a token mama?


Bring the bottle in, hand it over. Carry him to the changing table while juggling child, bottle, woobie, and paci. Making sure the flow of milk is constant or the foot kicking screamfest begins and I will so drop you, son, if you kick me in the baby maker again. I will SO do it. Don't test me.

He kicks me anyway. I don't drop him.

Restraint ya'll. It's a gift.

Peel off the pee wet pjs, change the 40 lb diaper. Powder, desitin, tummy rubs and head kisses. Cause he's a menace and it's 5 am, but I still love him a little too much to be healthy.


Lay him back in bed with the bottle ( shutty, dentists, I know) and high foot it to the bathroom while whimpering "Ohboyohboynotgonnamakeitkidruinedmypeeholdingin muscleswhatarethosecalledoooooooocoffeeisready!"

Focus. Another gift.

Pee. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh.

Glace lovingly at the coffeepot on the way back to the tyrants room/ Maybe make out with it just for a minute.

"You complete me, Cuisinart."

"You had me at self grinding."

Walk into the tyrants room. Prepare bright mommy smile/one day you will pay for making me get up this early grimace.

To see that he is asleep.


Oh no he din't.

And I can't even go back to sleep cause once my warm nether regions hit the cold toilet seat that's it, sister. I'm up. Cold toilet seat=coffee soon. Anybody knows that.

He looks so cute when he is sleeping. I have the distinct urge to yell "Saaaaaaaameeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!" in his face. But I won't. Cause of the restraint thing. Be envious of my will power.

But I won't say I didn't turn the coffee grinder on just one more time.

Mmmmmmmm coffee.