It’s early Monday morning. A holiday morning. I should be sleeping. But I’m not. My little has decided that she “absolutely needs to eat right now” or she’ll die. I can sense her standing next to me at my bed. She’s poking my arm. I’m not awake. Go away. But she’s persistent. She stops poking my arm and starts poking me on the forehead. Really?
How long can I take this before I give up and give in. Um. Not long, because clearly, I’m up now. There’s no sense in trying to negotiate with her, because she’ll just keep pleading her case of extreme hunger until I can’t take it anymore and get up anyway.
So here we are. Up at 6:30 a.m. on a holiday morning. She hasn’t stopped talking since she grabbed my arm in victory and led me down the stairs. Something about a birthday party she was invited to – “we need to get a GIFT “, and the pumpkin carving that she wants to do – “we need to get those today,” she moves from topic to topic without missing a beat.
My head is fuzzy. It’s early. I have to make coffee. I need coffee for this. So as I fill the pot, she’s still talking. I’m trying to ignore her. Block her out. But she’ll have none of it. “Mama, I’m talking to you!” she says indignantly. Yes, I’m aware that you’re talking to me. I’m aware that you haven’t stopped talking to me since…well, birth actually. I’m hoping that you’ll move on to someone else, something else…it’s too early for all this talking. But guess what? Nobody else is up right now. Just me and you. I’m the lucky one.
“Yes sweetheart. I know. Give Mama a minute to make some coffee.” I say. But in my head, I’m like, oh my God…how can a little person have so much to say at 6:30 in the morning?
But wait, my middle is up now. And he wants to talk. He wants to tell me about a new action figure that he wants for Christmas. He wants to show me the cartoon with the action figure, so I’ll have a complete understanding of how cool it is.
I think I’m about to have a brain aneurysm. So I do what any normal, completely sane mom would do.
I hide in the bathroom. Coffee in hand. And wait them out.
But they’re onto me. The “Mama? Where are you?” starts. Then they see the bathroom door closed. The knocking begins. And not just a little one-knock. It’s the incessant, continual knocking, fast and loud. So I shake my head, gulp down my hazelnut blend, and say, “I’ll be out in a minute.” Seriously kids, I need a minute of peace. I’m trying to check my email, catch up on social media…you know, important stuff!
But my speaking confirms that I am indeed in there, so they continue talking through the door. “Okay, when you come out I wanna show you the new episode of” …blah blah blah – followed by, “Mom, I want you to hear me sing.” They are both shouting through the door.
How long can I actually stay in here before they wake up Daddy and tell them I’ve been in the bathroom forever. But I don’t need to find out because I’ve realized that they are young, persistent little suckers and they have more stamina than I do.
I open the door, and they are both standing there. Like, right there.
I can’t escape. I’m the mom. And then, my little smiles, hugs me…and proclaims,
“You can run but you can’t hide!”