Someone commented recently that I am “living the dream.” I don’t know what the hell they meant by that. Because this is not my idea of a dream.
5:00 a.m. – I wake with the urgent need to pee. And the urgent need to remain child-free for at least another 30 minutes. I suffer silently, in the dark, in bed. Incontinence in a few years is a small price to pay for another 15-30 minutes of solitude today.
5:27 a.m. – I can’t take it anymore. Slowly, slowly I roll out of bed, tiptoe to the far bathroom, assume the position. Sweet relief is on its way.
5:27 and a half a.m. – Screams and blood-curdling wails. The monster wakes. I shuffle to his chamber. I must answer the call.
5:28 a.m. – I sit to nurse. He kicks me in the gut. I almost pee, but do not want to add slipcovers to my laundry list, so I squeeeeeeeze those muscles and soldier on.
6:00 a.m. – I finally convince the bairn to get off my tit. I need coffee. Badly.
6:05 a.m. – The coffee is perking. The kids are watching PBS. Finally – time to pee!
6:06 a.m. – Quietly, quietly, I tiptoe to the bathroom, assume the position. Sweet relief is on its way.
6:06 and a half a.m. – Screams and blood-curdling wails. Crashes! Shouts! The sound of shattering glass! I race to the scene, pajamas around my ankles.
6:08 a.m. – The children have discovered my basket of toy instruments. I make a mental note to hide those damn things better and hitch up my pants.
6:09 a.m. – Leaving the cacophony behind, I tiptoe quietly, quietly to the bathroom, assume the position, sweet relief blah blah blah.
6:09 and a half a.m. – Two small heads peek around the corner. They want breakfast. They have kazoos. Suddenly, I can’t pee. And I make a mental note to put a lock on the bathroom door.
6:10 a.m. – As I fill bowls with protein-fortified whole grains, slice grapes with precision, fill sippy cups and pack a lunch, the children serenade me on kazoo and the dog leaps around my feet. He needs to pee. I can sympathize.
To Be Continued