We wake at 4:30. Yes, that’s a.m.
He bounces in his bed, gleefully shouting. “Mom! Mom! Mom!”. When released to the wild, he literally HOPS down the hallway. He is now shouting, “Neenee! Neenee! Neenee!”.
Hard to believe that it is his last tooth coming in that has caused him to start our day so early as he is SO very cheery.
By the time his dad leaves for work at 7, I have convinced him to eat two blueberries. He has nursed 7 times.
At 8am, his mantra becomes, “Anma! Anma! Anma!”. My mother lives 2.5 hours away. He ran to the front door and started banging his fists. I send a desperate early morning text pleading for an impromptu video chat. There is no response. I imagine her sleeping in, surrounded by lush pillows. Her devoted dog at her toes, a small ray of sun peeking through her drapes to gently warm her brow. I swear under my breath.
At 9, we are reading books. Scratch that. We are reading book. He brings me his current favorite – The Sesame Street Pet Show. A book which contains more words than he is willing to listen to before wandering off to investigate just how shiny that doorknob is. Upon every presentation of this book, I invent a new story to go along with the illustrations. We read it 8 times. I consider a future in children’s literature.
By 10 we have reached desperation level Anma withdrawal. I call my mother. He grabs my phone and flattens his face against the glass. ” HEWWWOOOOOO!!! ANMAAAAAAA!” Pure joy. For a full minute. He begins pounding on the back door. “Owdiiiiiiiiiide!”. I chat with my mother while wrestling socks and shoes on a squid.
We spend the next hour outdoors. He is a constant blur. His collection of bumps, scrapes and bruises grows while I try to decide if I should point any of these out to his father or let him discover them at bath time.
By 11:05, he is a screaming hot pile of toddler. “Bye, Mom.” We run inside, where I am immediately presented with The Sesame Street Pet Show. I spend the next 25 minutes getting him changed, settled, fed and in bed for nap.
I scarf down a tofurkey sandwich, answer 3 emails and pee.
I walk into his room. “Muddets! Muddets! Muddets!” I am instantly filled with guilt and regret for my moment of weakness last week. In my heart, I know I am 100% responsible for this child’s addiction to The Muppet Show.
I settle in on the couch with my toddler (who I had previously vowed would not see an operating television until sometime after the age of 2) to watch a bunch of puppets sing, dance and inflict minor acts of violence upon one another.
I drink a cup of coffee and congratulate myself on making an excellent decision.
We fall asleep on the couch.
5 minutes later: “Alldone! Owdiiiiiiide!” We head back out back.
After another hour of playing house, sliding, swinging, running – and let’s not forget annoying the hell out of the dog, we come back in to color, put together puzzles, cook tomato broccoli pineapple soup (he’s a forward thinking foodie this one), ride his Rody horse and make multiple attempts to stand on the top of the couch to pull down the living room artwork.
3pm rolls around and the following text is sent to my husband: “He. Is. Crazy.”
I’m informed he’ll be leaving the office soon. Oh, good.
10 minutes later, I am informed he is stuck in dead stop traffic 5 minutes out from the office.
Inspiration hits. All the things must be climbed. All. The. Things.
Book time. Thankfully a new one has been presented. The first page talks about hounds howling. We howl. The dog makes a little sound. We look at each other. We howl again. The dog joins in full voice. We spend the next 5 minutes howling.
Just another Friday in paradise.