I mean, seriously. I’ve seen you sprint like a cheetah down the hall after a piece of lint, so I know you’ve got speed girl. Find it. Please, find it.
Because I’m tired. Like, really, really tired. And your rendition of “Let’s take a leisurely stroll through a field of flowers on a Sunday” is seriously cramping my style.
You see, my alarm’s about to chime, and I’ve already been dealing with your sweet little snail self since about midnight. It started when you stood over me like a killer in a scary movie—breathing your sweet, hot morning breath on my brow until I opened my eyes in terror.
You had to pee, “So, so bad Mommy!” but the walk to the bathroom closely mirrored a scene from one of those slow-mo videos they play right before someone is about to fall off a bike. Shuffle . . . shuffle . . . look, a kitty! These are not the actions of a person who is seconds away from having to change her wet pajamas. Stay the course kid.
Ew, look at the ceiling, Mama!
Yes, love. I know. There is a dead spider carcass grossly dangling from its final resting place up there. It’s been hanging on for dear life (death?) since June. And, if my foggy, sleep-deprived memory serves me right, we’ve discussed its lifeless little eight-legged body in great detail every single morning, afternoon and evening since the day his creepy crawly soul left this earth. Can we call that story done now sweets?
I can’t see Mama!
You’ve gotta be kidding me, kid. The moon is practically inside our bathroom right now. I’m basically walking on it. I’m also pretty sure I located and subsequently plucked a tiny chin hair while I waited for you to get those PJs down to your ankles, so I know you can see just fine. The light stays off, sister.
Hey, Mama! There’s my be-gina!
Yup. Same be-gina you were born with, woke up with and have inspected each and every other potty trip we’ve made of late. And, yes (because I know what’s coming next, girlfriend) I do have a be-gina, it’s in my underwear, and no, the cat’s be-gina isn’t up for discussion. I’m gonna need coffee for that.
As I see it, we’ve got at least another 17 or so minutes until we get that inquisitive, surprisingly chipper and alert soul off the toilet and back into bed. And, I’m placing bets on at least one more wake up before the alarm chimes at five, leaving me less than 15 minutes until this day has to start.
Fifteen minutes until I have to roll my exhausted self out of bed and onto the floor where I’ll attempt to do squats and planks with any kind of alacrity before hopping in the shower. Yes, love. I’m showering in the dark again. Because it’s kind of like sleeping under a warm waterfall, and for those five minutes, I’m in Tahiti and I’m also getting clean.
And, well, let’s be honest—if I’m going to be fielding 50 million questions per hour, followed by approximately 6.5 tantrums about everything and nothing every other hour, I need to have clean hair . . . and, maybe freshly shaved legs but that’s probably pushing it.
For the love of all that’s holy kid, please pick up the pace. Because mama is tired and your ability to pick up the pace just a hair would be epic right now. I promise to discuss dangling spider bodies and the cat’s anatomy in great detail in a few hours when we are supposed to be awake. But for now, I’m gonna need you to move this thing along. K?