Over on Dear Baby, Melissa is asking her guest writers to tell give you all about a day in their picture perfect life. Well, here’s mine:
7:05 am: “F#@kity, f#@k, f#@k, Story you are up two hours early this morning. Really?”
Since the weaning, she wakes up screaming, and today is no exception. I make my way across the dark room to her crib, tripping over the foot rest of the glider and chipping a tooth. She screams harder. I run my tongue over the rough tooth and try not to cry. It’s too early to be crying already. I pick myself up off the floor and reach into her crib.
“Shhh, shhhh, sweet girl,” but she is screaming and grabbing at my shirt.
“Want milk? Want milk. Want milk.” I try out my Happiest Toddler on the block technique to only louder screams and the addition of head butts. One hits me square in the nose and I let out a squeal and feel the tingle spread up my face.
I breathe and collect myself, “Story, No head butting mommy. We hug, we don’t head butt.
She is thrashing in my arms and I have no idea what to do with her precious little body so I lay her on the floor to finish her tantrum.
7:25 am: I fill a pink princess cup with cold milk and bring it to where she is on the floor. She stops crying immediately, removes the cup from my hand, giggles maniacally, says “Milk”, and begins to drink. I pick her up and carry her over to the couch where we both sit. Story loves to sit next to me on the couch and to show her approval of the situation, she leans her head on my arm. I rub my hands over her face to wipe away her tears. I drift a few fingers through her hair and give her head a little squeeze. She takes the milk out of her mouth and smiles.
“Mama. Mama.” When Story finishes her milk, she tosses her cup on the floor and skootches off the end of the couch to start playing with her toys.
8:00 am: Story follows me into the kitchen to help me cook breakfast. We pull out eggs and cheese from the fridge. I turn on the burner and crack the egg right into the skillet, whisking it lightly with a spatula to break up the yolk. I’m lazy.
I serve the scramble a little wet and sprinkle freshly grated cheese over the top with a pinch of salt. I slice a few strawberries and lay them on the plate to make it pretty.
While I am doing this, Story takes all the spices off the shelf and throws them on the floor. She pulls all the bowls from the cupboard and takes out each individual Kleenex and lays it on the floor.
8:15 am: Story sits in her high chair, eats eggs and drinks water while I clean up her mess.
It’s not even 9:00 AM and I’m already exhausted.
...to be continued