I was tired. I desperately needed some extra sleep after being held-over to work until 3am. It was a cool morning and my husband had cracked a window in our bedroom. I was cuddled under a down blanket. My husband had left for work, so the bed was mine. The baby woke at 6am and drank a whole bottle before falling back to sleep.
Add all these elements together and the equation is clear. I am going to pass the fuck out.
Problem. I have two other kids. That means that my 5-year old and 3-year old were left to their own devices. Typically this would be no big deal. They can be pretty good for 15-30 minutes. The issue this day was that the baby slept until 10:30 am. So… so did I. That’s 4-hours of independent toddler time. I was completely screwed.
Once I finally regained consciousness, I realized the disaster I was about to walk into. I grabbed the baby and ran downstairs.
At the bottom of the stairs I found the beginning of the destruction. Cereal was strewn about, apple sauce packets had been experimented with, and there were two young children stuffing their faces with 2-pounds of cold cuts on the couch. The smell of salami and drone of The Mickey Mouse Club hung in the air. They were safe, they were happy, and by God they were fed.
I do my very best as a mom. Sometimes my best is having the house supplied with lunch meat and paying the cable bill.
Tired Not Dead 