Mom! Mom! Mom!

Once in awhile, I get uninterrupted sleep and wake up on my own, well rested and ready to take on the day. Ha! Ha! Just kidding-I’m a mom.

Last night, about midnight, I hear “Mom! mom!” Hubby was asleep in a NyQuil and cough syrup coma and I didn’t want him or the non-yelling kid to wake up, so I get out of bed and find Miss A distraught in her room. I lay down with her in her spacious toddler bed until she drifts off. I unscrunched myself, collected my numb arm, and returned to my bed around 1:45.

What seems like a short time later, my alarm goes off and I think to myself, “Shoot! I set my alarm for a Saturday.” Then to my dismay, my phone informs me that it’s actually Friday…the 13th. Forget this! I’m not getting up early, quick alarm reset and back to sleep. While getting settled back in, I hear an unusual breathing pattern. Sometime in the night, Miss E apparently found her way to our room and had crawled into bed. Welcome to the party, I’m going back to sleep: just 25 more minutes.

“Mom! Mom!” Ugh! I go collect Miss A and bring her back to Hubby and my bed. Don’t care-want sleep, I just want 10 more minutes. Miss A pets my face, tells me the secrets of the universe…or something, then looks at me:
“I need to eat.”
“Just let mommy shower and I’ll come get you and get some breakfast. snuggle with dad for a little bit.”
“I want to eat!” Fine.

I bring Miss A downstairs, pour her some fruity pebbles, and wish her luck. I’m going to go shower. “Mom! I spill!” I turn around to see her pointing at a microscopic drop of milk on her leg. I hand her a paper towel. “Five minutes. Just give me five minutes.”

Fast forward 97 seconds: “Mom! Mom!” is coming from the kitchen. I finally just yell back “I am in the shower!”

23 more seconds go by: the bathroom door flies open, Miss A drags her stool over to the tub, stands on it, whips open the shower curtain, “Mom! You done??”

At this point, Hubby appears in the doorway, and after realizing no one has died, he silently backs out of the room, pulling the door closed as he goes.

I walk into the kitchen, half-dressed and one-quarter sane, to the chorus of Miss E and Miss A begging me to put “ponies” in their hair. Hubby looks at me, smiles and says “Happy friday the 13th Mama.”

I realize that I will never be this loved or needed again, but holy crap, 9B260F94-FFAD-46C1-B7C2-D37117866A66.jpegcan a woman get some rest?


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