Up early again. Bubba-Love decided at 5:30am he wanted a bottle. OK, it's a little early, but what's a mama to do?
Downstairs we came, to the magic TV couch, and got him happily tucked up. I tried to sneak a quick 5-10 minutes on the other sofa. Just as I'm ready to head back to the land of nod, there's a lovely gushing water noise. A cascading, gushing, eruption of noise coming from that sweet little man.
I'm trying to look at it this way: the sofa covers needed to be washed anyway and it's a lot easier to mop the floor when the other kids are still in bed and Bubba-Love is lying limply on said sofa.
It's at times like these that I remind myself, I wanted children. Sure, it would have been a lot easier if I didn't have to worry about them in my life. Go as I please, do as I please, just as I had before they came on the scene. No puke to clean up (except my own,) no potty training, no fighting and screaming to get them to clean their rooms, no constant challenges to my decisions.
Sounds like a dream.
But, as I sit here hugging this little man who now smells of sour milk, feeling his heart beating as I hug him to me, I think I'd be lost without all this. And, truth be told, I'm OK with the chaos.
What's a little bit of vomit at 6am between a toddler and his mom?