Typical day, my four-month-old daughter awakens after a full eight or nine hours of sleep. Such an occurrence isn’t every night, but often enough that when she deviates I become disgruntled. My two-and-some change-year-old son joins us at almost seven. This occurrence is less reliable, but happens enough that when he deviates I become disgruntled…or maybe I just appreciate sleep…profusely, and prefer to ease into my morning…even if it officially begins in the five realm.
I have yet another cold, although this one appears to be more garden variety. I don’t know what the problem is, but I’ve had a steady stream of illness since mid July. I think I’ve been sick more in the last few months than in the previous two years. But, this one allows me to function, so I really shouldn’t complain no matter how gratifying it might be to do so.
By seven-thirty Warrior Queen was sort of snoozing, and Little Man finished his morning dress preparation routine that included commentary about the baby monitor camera. Clearly discussing its working condition is fodder to consume five minutes before he tells me he needs cream to make the itchy on the bottom of his foot go away. The final changing table discussion an assertion that he poops a lot. I concur enthusiastically before we brush his teeth.
My son wanted Mini Wheats, which is lovely because I wasn’t feeling the whole eggs ‘n’ toast thing this morning. Funny thing though, I always celebrate that he wants cereal, yet it becomes a cereagedon coating on the floor every time. Regardless of the plethora of reinforcement, amnesia or delusion, I’m not sure which, washes over me in private celebrations when he requests it for breakfast. It doesn’t seem to matter how large or substantial the actual cereal seems to be. It will have the same result: an unnecessary amount of particles to clean off our floor.
(Turbosquid.com’s image could be my son’s breakfast, and it would still be in crumbly pieces surrounding his chair.)
Did you know that Mini Wheats is notorious for a hideous amount of debris? I do…because such knowledge is fortified every time he eats it. This typical morning was no different.
Developmental milestones are a miraculous thing, but not when it means my son can open the bathroom door by himself or pry a Tupperware container I struggle to separate. It was just a second of me attempting to retrieve milk from the refrigerator when I hear my blessed and quite dexterous son say, “Big mess.” I look over. Yes it was. It was a big, big mess of whole grain goodness coated in sugar all over the floor. At least I didn’t have to nag Little Man to clean.
As I was sweeping, my intermittently chill daughter starts griping that I haven’t walked over and smiled at her for thirty seconds. Moments like these typical ones immediately conjure Fatal Attraction. I can almost hear Warrior Queen, “I will not be ignored, Dan!”
(Thank you Pinterest for reminding me that we will not be providing this particular animal companion for our children.)
After reaffixing her pacifier, I marvel at the control her smiles have over my mental state. I find myself humming before I hear her indicating that she is in the process of relieving her bowels. I wait for her to finish…because sometimes I cease and desist from repeating mistakes.
But, as soon as she is flat on the changing table, it becomes apparent that this particular nature’s call was a blow-out. Okay, this piece of my morning is not so typical, but I appreciate a party like anyone. Little Man, however, decides that he requires front row seats to this particular brand of celebratory performance art, and, oh good, he brought snacks!
Even sick with residual sleep deprivation, I know where this is going; it doesn’t matter how many times I tell Mr. Man to eat at the table. It’s sweet; he wants to be with his family, and I’d find it touching if I wasn’t elbow deep in poop, and he wasn’t harboring what will be a part of a poor excuse for a balanced breakfast in the carpet. Typical morning, typical result…full bowl of fucking Mini Wheats and their entrails all over and imbedded in the carpet. Fortunately, I didn’t have to nag Little Man to clean, but there is only so much a helpful toddler can do before the situation is exponentially worse.
I drag our prehistoric vacuum from the closet. I’m not sure when it was purchased, but I know this is a relic from my mother-in-law’s childhood. It still works, but my lack of engineering proficiency translates to more time than I should admit attaching the pieces to proper working order. Even all these hours later, I’m surprised the thing didn’t explode on me.
We left the house at the appropriate time. I know about glaring at gift horses and all, but how did that happen? I even managed to eat breakfast.
(Thank you, sales2.com, that’s exactly the sentiment I was thinking at the time.)
The traveling entertainment was typical as well. My son discussed more thoroughly about the need for cream to squelch his itchy foot. Of course, he reminded me that he poops a lot…because I’m prone to forget such things… I shouldn’t be dismissive though because several times he gave me his tell tale drawn out “Oh,” indicating the gravity of his agreement. Our outing was not all that dramatic if one were to exclude the older toddler I had to reprimand for almost beaning my infant daughter in the head with a toy…on purpose. He apologized rather easily, but likely it was due to the voice coming from this:
(Couldn’t have explained it better myself, charl-gfx.deviantart.com.)
While playing with the Jetsonesque doll house furniture, Little Man brought me the washer and dryer, as well as a couple of toilets. As he carefully lined them in front of me in a very specific order, he sang, “This is the way we go poop poop.” It seems this was his first lyrical creation for what may very well be the beginning of many, many fine future productions.
We arrived home without incident after a couple hours of play. My son a bit punchy toward quiet time, but the house is still standing, so all things considered… Warrior Queen rolled to her back for the first time today, not so typical, but I might be more impressed that I actually remembered to give her tummy time. My accomplishment aside, still pretty cool, although not quite as cool as my son eliciting my fierce girl’s first belly chuckles yesterday.
Last night I lamented over text the cyclical nature of my current compromised constitution. She commented that maybe I’m spreading myself too thin. Maybe, but it isn’t like I encounter all that much stress…typically.