This morning, I awoke feeling like proverbial ass. Splitting headache and all. Rubbing away at the eye snot that had accumulated over my night of congested rest, I watched the handle of my two year old’s bedroom door start to turn.
Funny, I could have sworn he slept in a crib. Unless he…Oh my God, he climbed out. I grab at the arm holding me in place and start to tug, he mumbles his daily “Five more minutes.”
“He’s escaped,” I whisper. I can feel his eyes shoot open as he finds his way out of bed. He returns with Little A who sports a look. And if you know children – specifically two year olds, you know the look. It’s a “I’m going to do absolutely everything I shouldn’t do” expression. One that instills in me the fear of everything scary.
I reach for my phone for my daily zombie apocalypse check. Little A nestles his head on my shoulder. It’s really stage one of his plan – deceit. I am meant to buy into this behaviour and let my guard down. But not today, today I feel like ass. As I lean in to kiss my hand, he snatches my phone.
“Can you please give mommy her phone back?”
“No! My phone!” He returns assertively. Almost convincing me that it is in fact his phone.
My husband leans in for what I expect is a kiss on my forehead, only to swipe my ipad and head towards the bathroom to commence his morning rituals with my tooth brush in his mouth.
I want to hide under the sheets.
But I can’t.
I hear the sound of camera clicking, and there’s Little A taking a million photos of himself with the same expression. Last time we played this game, he took over 100 photos of his chin.
We head downstairs for breakfast. Bagels it is. But not before I snatch my bra out of Skrillex’s (french bulldog) mouth. I turn on my iPod and hear the odd melancholic lyrics about a slaying. This not my usual Ed Sheeran or Ben Howard track. The title of the song is “The Dragon’s Lament.”
“What the fuck is this?” I mutter to myself.
This isn’t mine.
“Honey, don’t say f-u-c-k in front of the baby.”
“Honey,” I reply in an equally annoying tone, “what the f-u-c-k is this?”
“Oh, I put some songs on your iPod for my dungeons and dragons session,” says my husband. But he says it like he’s proud. Proud that he imperialised my iPod? Proud that itunes has songs called “Dragon’s Lament”? I have no idea.
Bagels are done. Little A refuses to eat unless I hold his food hostage and make him beg for it. I have no idea where he has learned this. Needless to say, it doesn’t bode well. Ironically, he doesn’t let me eat either. Every bite I take makes him throw his head back and shout baby profanities.
In walks his dad wearing my hot pink socks.
I walk into my office only to find a half eaten Elmo and little A’s books strewn all over the floor. My sanctuary is tainted with two year old.
Nothing is mine anymore. Nothing.
Little A insists I put nail polish on his toes. Don’t judge, I was too tired to put up a fight. He then pranced around in my shoes and bags – also pretty ominous – but hey, to each their own.
Nina (my black lab) also plays with my shoes. This breaks my heart and I have no choice but to sleep off the pain. I want to cry myself to sleep, but I know if I do, I won’t be able to breathe.
Two Advil and three hours later, I wake up to the sound of what I’m thinking could be Twinkle Twinkle and the sensation of someone combing their fingers through my hair.
With a sleepy smile, I open my eyes and am greeted by a diaper clad baby and husband. Both with the same expression.
Little A leans in for what I think is a kiss and grabs my phone.
His dad leans in for what I think is a hug and grabs my juice.
Skrillex has found another bra and Nina is chewing something.
I close my eyes.
I then feel two pairs of lips kiss my face.
So what if nothing I own is mine. So what if I have to delete hundred of photos off my phone so what if I have to listen to “Dragon’s Lament,” no – no I really don’t want to hear that again.
Sometimes the best things in life are the little things – other times its shoes.
Sweet Dreams World