As I have mentioned before, mornings are my nemesis. I know everyone says they don’t like getting up in the morning, but I really really really really do not.
Philomena still wakes up ridiculously happy. For a few minutes she will leave me alone and usually play by herself or gaze out the window whilst defecating her diaper.
However, an arbitrary moment comes in which Mommy must be out of bed. I don’t know what spurs the thought, but once it is there, she is relentless in her pursuit of this goal.
She employs many methods to accomplish her solemn mission. As she has gotten older, the tactics have become more extreme.
A couple months ago, it was pretty mild. She would walk up to my bed and say, “eat! Eat! Oatmeal! Eggs! Mena eeeeeeeaaaat!” [She knows breakfast is one of the first things we do in the morning, so she tugs at my don’t-want-to-deprive-my-child-of-basic-necessities heart strings, so then I would eventually oblige. Of course, when we get downstairs, she refuses to even enter the kitchen and begs for books.]
Then, those pleas were accompanied by throwing my glasses from the nightstand at my face, “sack-es! sack-es!” [translation: glasses]
This process then evolved into sitting on my head, complete with her urine-drenched diaper. Sometimes she even adds a little bounce for greater effect.
She upped her antics again a few weeks ago, when she started yelling, “Sarah! Saaaarah! Saaaarah! Mommy-Sarah! Sarah, UP!”
Aaaaand the culmination of her efforts has become getting out of her pajamas, taking off her soiled diaper, and screaming in my ear (while totally naked), “poopy poopy poopy!!”
Indeed.
I recruited Ryan to document some of this morning’s events.
[channeling my inner-Mary with the most awkward picture of me ever]
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