Ok, I’ll change my tee-shirt…
It’s 8:24 AM on a rainy Sunday morning. I woke up before 7a with Eleanor, almost 3, using my belly as a pillow and sleeping sideways in my bed. Somewhere in the middle of the night she was “Scared” from a dream and decamped to our bed.
Sore from the gym and my second dose of the Pfizer vaccine, I had to slowly move my body, inch by inch, to get out of bed without waking her. Having come down to the kitchen to make myself a coffee and enjoy a few minutes of peace before anyone wakes up, I open my laptop, start reading and doing some work, and Chris comes down with Eleanor. Half way down the stairs, she looks at Chris in his boxers and exclaims in a very grown-up way, “you can’t come downstairs without pants on!” We do have an au pair but the chances of seeing her at this hour on a Sunday morning are beyond zero. We both burst out laughing, he hands her to me, and walks back upstairs. Here we go…
No longer having my quiet morning time, I’m instructed by a bossy 2-year-old Eleanor wearing a too-small sleep sac to get her milky in a pink bottle.” Not only is the desired receptacle expressed, quite articulately I would add, but she also needs to HOLD the top WHILE we pour the milk in order for it to fit her standards. Every. Time. Now remember, I’m still in PJs having come downstairs for peace and quiet, and not wanting to lose a precious second of that alone time. In the last year of Covid-19 quarantine, my introvert tendencies have become necessities for survival. Without my alone time, it’s not pretty….
Her next demand: take off my sweatshirt. What? Yes, she has some aversion to my hooded comfy sweatshirt, leaving me in a tank top and chilly. Sigh. Ok, Eleanor. Next, to the couch, to read Barbie stories about “Barbie can be a…. doctor, soccer player, chef, and dancer.” I’m so happy Barbie has come along to women’s empowerment and even writes thank you notes to those who inspired her… A parenting win!
The next child sneaks downstairs, Lara, age 6, and Eleanor finally allows me to zip her out of her sleep sac so she and Lara can play on the tablet. We’ve just put our foot down with no screen time during the week (our rare moment of parental resolve! Another win!), so I’ll let them this little pleasure. Finally, I go back upstairs to wash my face, change my clothes, and sit down with my coffee.
“I have to go potty!” Eleanor screams from the basement. Ok, ok… I hobble down (still sore back, remember?) to carry her to the potty. She demands I sit on her little stool and read to her while she does her business. Then, washing hands turns into also washing her Baby Shark singing toy. And, not only that, but washing her baby shark toy WITH a butterfly bar soap which requires liquid soap on top of it (whaat?) and I am admonished for not pulling up her sleeves far enough and getting water on them.
Now, it’s time for pancakes! Mixing bowl goes on her head as I reach for the flour. Chris comes down — phew. Pancakes are his territory and I have celiac, anyways. But Lara looks at him and says, “Daddy, that’s not your pancake tee-shirt!” Yes, there’s a designated Daddy tee-shirt for pancakes. And like me, he actually goes upstairs to change his shirt!! We are undoubtedly the most pushover parents ever. And the worst part is we know it but continue to be bossed around to keep the peace! Pick our battles, the parenting books say….
No wonder it’s hard to concentrate, lol. These years are undoubtedly one big brain-fog. Constant interruption, but oh so cozy. The part I left out were the snuggles during Barbie stories, where Eleanor somehow fits her body like a concave spoon inside my body, and when I kissed each of Eleanor’s fingers. Pinkie, ring, middle, forefinger, thumb. “Again, again!” she says. Hugs and more hugs. The smell. I know it will be over — James, at age 8, is already “so big!” and pretends he doesn’t want snuggles. For all the brain-fog, being bossed around, and lack of ability to really get anything done, I know how precious this is….
Even if I don’t get to wear my sweatshirt.
