Kids don’t care if you’re sleepy. It’s a fact you discover from the moment you bring them home. I think there’s this small hope that burns inside you like a tiny fire. It dreams that as children get older they might begin to appreciate the fine art of sleeping in. My children have yet to decide this is something beneficial.
And so it was I found myself up early on a morning after a string of long shifts at work. My body desired nothing more than the bed, but my chipper kiddos felt this was an unrealistic desire on my part.
So I found myself struggling to get started. I was turning the key, but my engine refused to turn over. Coffee was the missing puzzle piece I needed. I knew it. The need for caffeine pulled me effectively down the hall, but I was reminded pretty quickly that kids give caffeine consumption as much consideration as they do sleeping past nine. Little to none.
Kids don’t care if you’ve had coffee. They begin immediately with requests for chocolate milk and other edibles like it’s a list they began compiling overnight. My child always asks immediately for something off limits for breakfast like a cookie or ice cream, which in retrospect is pretty brilliant to spring on a non-caffeinated brain. After all, I sometimes consider her request and have been known to cave. Ice cream is dairy. Dairy is a breakfast food. Don’t judge. Whatever gets me coffee, you know?
It’s already a struggle as it is. Making coffee while holding a nursing toddler is challenging, but I usually have the assistance of my three year old helper. She’s typically eager to pull up her step stool and spill coffee grounds and water all over the counter in an attempt to “help me.” I’m just like, whatever. I’ll clean it up after I’ve had a cup.
The smattering of coffee grounds on the floor doesn’t compare to the overpowering smell of pee wafting up from the baby on my hip. The diaper isn’t even bulging yet, but something about overnight urine is eye-opening at this juncture of the morning routine.
One diaper change later, I still have remnants of it in my nose, and wonder longingly when that smell will pack it’s bags for good. It seems to linger everywhere. Even on work mornings when I shower I think I smell pee, and I can’t begin to imagine how. You clean floors with Clorox, use a diaper genie, and spray Febreeze, but still the smell persists. It’s like having twelve cats. In diapers.
Potty training helps I guess, once you get them off their miniature potty. That thing is simply an encourager of peepee smells in the bathroom. Once I got my eldest daughter on the big toilet and taught her how to wipe properly it was smooth sailing, but she still feels it’s necessary to remove every stitch of clothing she has on when she pees.
This usually finds me trying to get my blessed first sip of coffee and being visually confronted by my naked child’s privates. Kids have no concern for modesty, and sure don’t mind trying to climb on your lap fully nude. This makes for an interesting coffee experience, and much thankfulness over that whole teaching to wipe properly thing.
Then it’s usually mass communication time. Before I’m even 1/4 of the way through my cup of joe my child has given me her full narration of all the dreams she had overnight, her full list of Christmas wishes (which is still over 6 months away), and her take on the current budget crisis. While I appreciate her fiscal concepts, I usually take note more of her full-on volume. Kids have no concern for voice modulation. Ears are bleeding.
About 1/2 way though my cup of coffee the natives start getting restless. I’m minimally lubricated with caffeine enough at this point to start making breakfast for my starving children. They say they’re starving anyway. Twenty minutes later, half-eaten plates of scrambled eggs beg to differ. I say half-eaten, but with the baby at least, it’s more like half on the floor. Those kids have no regard for the fact that I’m a closet clean freak and fret about clean floors. Sigh. Kids – 2,659 Me – 0.
Hey, at least it’s summer I think. I can maybe sweep the floor while they play on the carport and I watch them obsessively through the kitchen window lest they trip on a poisonous snake or the foot of an escaped convict intent on kidnapping adorable little girls. But then I look out that same window and realize it’s raining. No outside play on a rainy day. Sad mommy. Upside? No fear of kidnapping before nap-time.
I try to use the time that they’re occupied with throwing eggs to use the bathroom in private. I sometimes forget this is a no-no in my home. My three year old is quick to remind me though. She offers commentary of my bathroom business in her full volume voice, sitting beside me on that dang pink, miniature piss pot. “I heard that one hit the water Mom.”
Some days, like this one, I luck out and my husband has the day off. I send him intense mental messages to contain the children. When that fails I usually tell my daughter how much I would appreciate some privacy while on the toilet. I do this in a volume that competes with her loudest so my husband doesn’t have a choice but to hear my pleas. Thanks honey!
It’s in these beautiful, pristine moments of rare alone time that I partake in a hot shower, simply standing under the spray and pretending I’m not responsible for the lives of three little people. It’s a blessed 15 minutes, and then my three year old breaks into the bathroom to “brush her teeth.” This coming from the kid I have to beg and plead with to take the time from her busy schedule for dental hygiene.
Kids have no concern for my private time. They also lose the ability to find anything. “Mom? Where’s my toothbrush?” It’s always right in front of them, isn’t it? I guess I should be honored at my built-in GPS skills. I know my hubby appreciates it. He can’t find anything either. Mom – 1, maybe?
These kids have no idea what I give up for them on a daily basis, and they have no concern for anything that benefits me. But, I guess they also have no idea how much I just don’t even care anymore. They have no idea how much I count all that crap as joy if it means I can hold little, warm bodies and kiss sweet toes. They have no clue that I almost start crying like a freak when they laugh, or tell me they love me, or even just sit there doing nothing but looking all perfect and what-not.
They have no idea that they changed my life and still do. They don’t know that when I go somewhere without them that it takes me twenty minutes or more to realize that the Dora movie is playing in the backseat and no one is watching it. They don’t know that sometimes I just let it play so I can feel like they’re there. Kids – 2,660. For real.
They have no idea how much I miss them. They have no idea how I would do it over and over and over again. They have no regard for the fact that they hijacked my heart and I’ll never be the same. I can handle all the dirty floors, pee smells, and early mornings they want to dish out!
But I really need that cup of morning coffee. You know?
Sherry says
I’m sitting here drinking my cup of joe and what do I hear as I finish your story! My grand baby of coarse! I think they just know or hear the pot brewing but I’m like you I have to savour that first cup. It helps me think and plan. I so enjoy your blog and can’t wait to read your 1st book. I would love to be on your team to spread your book . I am constantly forwarding your blog to my NICU nursing buds. you are a wonderful writer. I wish you were my neighbor!
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you so much! I would love to have you on my team. I’ll shoot you an email later today.
Kristen Lothenore says
I’m a few days behind in reading, but wanted you to know that I totally cracked up!!! It’s like seeing my life put on paper. I love it! Thanks for sharing!
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Haha. Thanks! I enjoyed this one too.