Sunday morning smells like cinnamon rolls & Clorox.
Wipe down the counter, throw in the load of laundry, pause for a puzzle, run a vacuum over the rugs, forget the stairs.
“Momma, play cars with me?”
Sure, kiddo.
My fastest run. Breakfast Club fist pump.
What do you think about brick tile for the kitchen? The old-world feel of home? Oh, it’s discontinued. Starting over.
After lunch & nap, of course.
Baby shower. Blue cupcakes. I wish it were me.
Fighting the toilet. My head in my hands & I wonder if we’re doing the right thing.
Alarm clock rings.
Work, tap, think, roll my eyes. Does it feel cold in here to anyone else?
I need a haircut. & the eye doctor. & the dentist. I’m not sure when I’ll find the time.
I sit in a chair by the toilet. Read books as he cries. He opts to go to bed early & I close my eyes against his tears.
I’m sitting on the floor of the shower, wine glass in hand & the water is scalding hot. It’s a new low point & I wonder if I’m the worst mother ever. I can’t do this.
Alarm clock again. A long to-do list. My slowest run. I brace myself for another night alone.
But he does it. He finally does it! I swing him around the living room & he chooses to watch The Lorax in celebration.
We read three books before bed & he reads one to me. I kiss him & blow against his cheek & he giggles.
I love motherhood.
Alarm clock, is that you again? Damn you.
Cook up the eggs. I miss bacon. Ouch, I’m sore from yesterday’s run.
I wonder what the living room would look like in grey with yellow curtains? & the dining room in apple green? I wonder if Pinterest has anything like that.
Oh, crap! It’s 8:30am. We’ve got to get moving, Hibby.
He throws his arms around my neck in goodbye & I look over my shoulder as I close the classroom door & he grins at me.
God, I love this.
