Tuesday Morning

Everett stirs next to me and I silently wish for five more minutes. Just five more minutes…..

But it is soon clear that he is awake for the day. I roll over and look at the clock. 10:14. I must be dreaming; this is two hours later than normal. Two more hours of sleep, so why am I still so tired?

We lay in bed together, him cooing as he tries to talk to me but he is too young yet to speak any words. And somehow I understand everything he says.

His coos turn to fusses turn to cries and I lift my shirt for him to nurse. It won’t always be this easy to feed him, I think in my head. I remind myself to stay here and enjoy the now instead of wishing for the days ahead when he is not so needy.

I get up to grab a diaper and I glance at the temperature outside. Seventy-eight degrees. Not hot but not nearly cool enough yet. Another day of shorts and t-shirts and one less day of jeans and cardigans. I am so impatient in my wait for fall.

I tend to wish the days away, always looking to the future. I used to be waiting for my baby to be born and now I’m waiting for him to grow up. Waiting for the seasons to change. Waiting for change in general. Why can’t I ever just be happy with what I have right this minute? Why can’t I ever be satisfied?

Some day I will. Some day.

But for now, I will love him for who he is, even if I am absolutely not a fan of  this teeny-tiny baby stage.

I look over at his big sister still sleeping next to him. She found her way into our bed overnight as well. We really need a king size bed. I’ve never admitted it to my husband but I actually love sleeping with my children. If it weren’t for his protests, I’d invite them into our bed every night. I love having them close by and knowing that they are safe, warm, secure in my arms.

I have to wake her up. She has become a late sleeper, just like her mama. Just like her mama used to be. Before I became a mama.

I finally convince her to get out of bed and I start thinking about breakfast. I remember that I need to go to the grocery store but I put it off for tomorrow when I can leave one of them behind. That means one more day that I have to make it through without any chocolate. Some people are addicted to alcohol, or drugs, but I am addicted to chocolate.

I finally decide to make brownies – from scratch. My need for sweets finally overrules my laziness and I gather ingredients from the pantry. Emily wants to help so badly, bless her little heart, but I am at a stopping point. The melted butter is cooling. The next step is to add the eggs but not until the butter is cool. I leave the kitchen for just a minute and come back to find an egg scrambled in the still-too-hot butter. There are no more eggs. There will be no brownies. I want to be mad, but I just can’t. She was only trying to help her mama. Her shirt says “mama’s little angel” and she is. She is so beautiful inside and out.

I flip through my recipe book in hopes to find something, anything that I can make. The only thing that doesn’t require eggs is fudge, but there is not enough powdered sugar. So I make a glass of chocolate milk and call it good enough.

Tomorrow’s grocery store trip is becoming more fattening by the minute as I think of all of the (chocolate-y) things that I will buy. I eat to deal with the stress and there is so much of it. Being needed so much by two different people. Trying to figure out how to balance my time between them and still leaving time to tend to the house.

Mom-guilt.

Tomorrow she and I will have a date. We have only had one other since Everett came along and it is time. She needs it but I need it more. I am still not used to having to put her needs second, Everett’s first, mine third. Everett comes first because I must quieten his cries as quickly as possible. I don’t do well with crying.

She deserves better, more. I just don’t know how to give it to her just yet. I’m learning. She is learning. She’s learning how to do more and be more independent and it breaks my heart to see her growing up so fast so all of a sudden. But grow up she will, no matter how hard I try to slow her down.

I love this age. I wish they were twins so they both could be 2 1/2. Oh, how fun that would be……

 

 

I’m linking up with Heather’s Just Write project. You can read more here.

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