All Before Lunch

Mommy!

I'm startled awake before the sun has had a chance to peek through the skylight above our bed. 

Mommy, I need
Mommy, I want
Mommy, I won't

Explain to me how one so small can have such a loud voice. So many loud requests. Before the day has even begun. 

I'm tired from feeding the baby at my side throughout the night. Sporadic waking, but she falls back asleep with ease. The demands from the toddlers mouth rush up the stairs like a storm, loud and fierce. 

Mommy, come down
Mommy, I need you
Mommy, I'm hungry

I'm frustrated. I'm not actually miffed at him, rather my aching back and foggy brain that haven't found the time for adequate rest and healing. 

I know he is not old enough to reason with. Not at this time of day when we are both feeling fragile. I crawl out of bed, quite literally due to the slant in the ceiling, and stand at the top of the steps. Looking down, I see a toddler who can't do very much on his own yet. 

Mommy, please
Mommy, now
Mommy, come

Is it too much to ask for a little time to get myself ready for the day in solitude? Change my clothes without being pulled on? Brush my teeth without also trying to tell my toddler why he can't throw things down the steps? Brush my hair? Put mascara on for once? God forbid, take a shower by myself? Look in the mirror and decide to change again?

Hey bud, I'm coming
Hey bud, be patient 

What he really wanted was to be held, which I do when I reach him at the bottom of the steps. 

Good morning. How did you sleep? 
Good. 
Did you have good dreams? 
Yeah 

He snuggles in close, as if the night was as long as a year. Reluctantly, I begin the treacherous, tedious, and time consuming process of getting a toddler ready for the day. Get food, be accused of not putting enough milk in the cereal bowl, clean up spilled milk, decide if today we wear underwear, explain why we are kind and gentle to the dog, more snuggles, get more food, put on underwear, put on shirt, change shirt, put on pants, complain about being itchy, take off pants, get more food, more milk, more water, until finally we have a half dressed boy with a mostly full stomach. 

Mommy, read to me
Mommy, play with me
Mommy come

Mommy, play cars
Mommy, read to me
Mommy, hold me

Mommy, I need more food
Mommy, I don't like that
Mommy, thank you

Mommy, stop that
Mommy, I don't share
Mommy, I'm sad

Mommy, let's go outside
Mommy, play rough with me
Mommy, come

Mommy, I'm angry
Mommy, guess what creature I am
Mommy, go away

Mommy, I'm sorry
Mommy, I'm not sorry
Mommy, I don't know

Mommy, hold me
Mommy, hold me
Mommy, hold me

Again and again I hold him. Again and again I put him down, needing space of my own. Needing a mental break. Needing a physical reset. Needing him to learn that I can't always hold him even if I wanted to. My back is the way it is from holding and not holding all day long. Getting down on his level, standing to be on my own. 

Bud, I'm here
Bud, I see you
Bud, I've got you 

Bud, I know it's hard
Bud, we've got to do this as a team 
Bud, I know you can do it

Bud, I'm sorry
Bud, I mess up too sometimes
Bud, I love you

I love you 
I love you
I love you. 

Finally it's lunch time.