Oh, Sweet Sunday Mornings

It’s 5:15am when I’m woken by the sound of my baby talking into the monitor. I get up and walk over to her room, roll her back over, and give her the pacifier.

When I get back into my bed, I notice something isn’t quite right. The comforter is missing. It’s on the floor next to my husband, a case of stolen blanket that has gone too far.

I try and fall back asleep, holding onto the sheet as it’s being pulled away from me, too.

It’s 5:30am and the baby is blabbering on again. I walk in there, roll her over, give her the pacifier.

As I walk into my bedroom, I notice something else. The room is filled with the fresh scent of my husband not washing his feet or changing his socks before bed. I mean, he managed to run his head under the shower... but washing his feet is just too difficult.

I crawl back under the sheet and close my eyes. It’s 5:45 The baby starts to cry this time. I get up, roll her over, give her the pacifier.... and surrender. My day starts now.

She’s crying, loudly, as I walk into the kitchen to make a bottle. Her dad, still asleep even with the monitor as loud as can be.

When I get into the kitchen, I see the dirty dishes of last night’s dinner still on the stove, the counter, and in the sink. I fell asleep while we watched our show and never made it to clean. My husband said he’d clean it in the morning, but I’m already awake so I might as well.

I wash a bottle, mix the formula, and go get my baby girl. She has won, and she knows it. We sit down on the sofa while she chugs her bottle so fast it makes me believe that one day she may put some college boys to shame over a beer chugging contest (I hope she won’t do this, but if she does she will kick some ass).

After a diaper change and laying her in her pack n play with her toys, I go to make my morning formula. Coffee.

The keurig water is empty, so I refill it which feels like it takes years. I have 2 coffees left. I make my first one, and the machine decides to mix it up a bit and put the coffee grounds in my cup of coffee. I pour it out, I make the last cup of coffee.

Coffee in hand, I step out into the 30 degree weather in the dark of the morning. The dogs huddle close to me to keep warm as I think about all there is to do. Grocery shop for thanksgiving, for the rest of the week, teach my husband how to bleach my roots because the lady at the salon keeps bleaching my ends until I will have none left. Baby girl needs a bath, laundry needs to be done, I wonder if I’ll paint my bathroom today... probably not.

But I’m grateful. We’re home, not in the hospital like a few weeks earlier. We’re all healthy, even if I feel like I’m falling apart. I have a loving husband, even when I get dramatic and grumpy. I’m pretty sure my baby girl tried to say “thank you” after she sneezed and I said “bless you.”

It’s going to be a good day.

UPDATE:

I would just like to add that I went to wake up my husband with a cup of coffee and this man, at some point, picked the comforter back up of the floor and covered himself up and went back to sleep. 😂