Mornings

My darling husband normally gets Little Man in the morning. They get to have some great father-son time while mama attempts to downplay the Medusa look she sports first thing in the AM. My son has learned that mama miraculously ends up in a better mood after the loud machine forces brown liquid into a tiny cup which she downs in one gulp (I believe in training ‘em young. Once he is old enough to reach the espresso machine, he is old enough to bring mama her coffee in bed). Once the light turns green and the machine begins to chug away, Little Man claps and screeches in delight. “Mama’s gonna smile now! Mama’s gonna be nice now! Mama’s gonna stop grunting at me now!”. Yes, the little things that entertain our children…

My sweet, darling, wonderful husband had to be up at the ungodly hour of 4 AM this morning which means I was up at the only-somewhat-ungodly hour of 5 AM. Showered, dressed and happily chugging double espresso #1 (yes, the mornings in my house involve more than 1 double) as 6 AM rolls around. I skip into Little Man’s room; pull out his clothes, diaper, etc., and not being quiet about it. He rolls over, opens one eye, glares, rolls over again and goes back to sleep.

“Oh no sweetie pie, it’s time to get up. Come on baby boy. HOLY SHIT WHAT IS THAT SMELL?”

You can have your father-son bonding time honey. There is not enough espresso in the world to make dealing with that first thing in the morning bearable. No really. I insist. The mornings are all yours.