Yesterday morning, I was barely out of the shower when my son started banging on the ensuite door wanting to come in. I begged for another minute to dry off and get my robe on, but it’s difficult to reason with an 18 month old. Nothing short of Mommy walking out and giving him attention would do. I still made him wait and I know that you’re now thinking how horrible a mom I was. It was a life lesson though. He needs to learn that the good stuff in life only comes if you’re patient. See? Good mom award time.
I was wiped out, though. My day actually began at 2am when I woke up from a sound sleep and couldn’t claw my way back into my warm cocoon of sleep. After half an hour of trying desperately to get comfortable, I knew I needed to give up and get up. I did my usual sleep-destroying move and turned on my laptop to connect with my fellow insomniacs and those who were awake on the other side of the world.
Don’t ask me what I did. I really don’t remember. I was genuinely tired, so I didn’t really pay that much attention. Maybe I played Facebook games. That’s usually guaranteed to put me to sleep. I finally decided to try again around 4am. Fortunately, this time I got comfy and fell asleep around 4:30, only to be dragged out of bed again at 5:45. Having responsibilities can sure cut into my ability to get a good night of sleep. Oh, yeah, I was also suffering from a cold, so my head was all fuzzy, too.
When my son decided he wanted to see me, I felt bad that I didn’t have any actual energy to give to him. I think he figured out I wasn’t up to much because after he gave me a hug, he pretty much ignored me, preferring to play with his father who was substantially more perky. Matt is one of those people who (mostly) has the ability and strange desire to jump out of bed and jump into the day. I’m not like that. I am not a night owl - though I used to be - and I think that my bleary-eyed sluggishness in the mornings is a throwback to my night owl days.
I actually prefer to get up in the morning, but the getting up and getting going is hard for me. This may have something to do with my soon-to-be-over unemployed status and subsequent lack of defined purpose for each day. My husband says I’m not a morning person, but I think the definition of "not a morning person" can be misconstrued if you're talking about me. My brother-in-law is the type who everyone avoids until he’s had at least three or four cups of coffee (okay, maybe only two). He is NOT a morning person. He's more like a morning grizzly bear. Me: I’ve essentially kicked the coffee habit - decaf really doesn’t count I‘m told. I don’t grumble, moan or groan. I’m just slow and like to take my time. If I really must, I can boogie through the morning with the best of them and be pleasant doing so. Saying I'm not a morning person because I don't like to get out of bed seems to overstate things just a tad.
As I was getting ready yesterday morning, Brandon did his usual thing: went through the cabinets and drawers of my bathroom and pulled out anything and everything he found interesting. This usually includes all of my body sprays and lotions, the hair dryer and the odd miscellaneous item that I can’t remember at this moment. (I was really just thankful he didn’t decide to go play in the toilet.) Yesterday, his primary fascination was with the hair dryer. As it wasn’t plugged in, I didn’t see the problem. (If this is a problem, someone should tell me directly and not just call CAS first.) He carries the hair dryer around the whole upstairs and plays with the controls, usually as the cord trails along behind him. He actually did an admirable job of hanging onto the cord this time, though. I didn’t fear it was a trip hazard that would cause him to fall, bang his head on something and get a concussion that would leave him unconscious, thereby instigating a trip to the ER. Okay, I’m starting to get the picture that the hair dryer, even when not plugged in is probably not the best toy for a toddler.
My husband, however, didn’t seem to agree that the hair dryer was harmless - that, or he was just ready to start herding the child downstairs. Just after they proceeded downstairs, I walked out of the bathroom and found my glasses laying on the floor in my bedroom - an ominous sight for sure. Especially when I realized that they were bent to an impossible-to-wear angle. It’s my fault (at least partially). I left them in a place where Brandon could reach them. If he can reach something, it’s fair game these days. Of course, it’s not fair that his reach just keeps getting longer and longer. How do you keep up with that?
I was kind of upset with Matt as well. Not because I thought he should have kept Brandon from picking up my glasses, but because there have been enough times he's actually handed his glasses to Brandon to play with and I've always told him that is not a good idea. "Start as you mean to go on. If you don't want him to destroy something, do not let him think it's okay for him to play with it." I'm kind of proud of the unmistakable wisdom of those words. My husband isn't nearly as impressed with my words. He was also offended that I had the audacity to blame him for Brandon playing with my glasses. He's right - I AM the one that left them within reach.
We finally all got downstairs and out the door; I even wore my mangled glasses. I tried not to, but I don't have a spare pair. Well, I did, but I took them the day before to have the lenses updated to my brand new prescription. Seriously, Lasik surgery is starting to sound like a good idea. The only problems I have with that are that I am terrified of any type of "surgery" and I really, really don't like anything coming close to my face, particularly my eyes. They'd have to put me under or give me some seriously good drugs to calm me down and render me somewhat immobile or at least without reflexes.
The rest of the morning went pretty much as they usually do - uneventful. Nothing out of the ordinary happened and I actually got in a nap to make up for my sleep-deprived night. Then I walked into the ensuite bathroom in the early afternoon and actually said out loud, "Why is my hair dryer in the sink?" Apparently, that’s where my husband decided to put it after he confiscated it from the mini-monster. We talk about mommy brain quite a lot, but I honestly don't think I've ever seen much - if anything - about daddy brain. It is my firm belief that my hair dryer sitting in the sink was proof that daddy brain exists. If you know my husband, you know this is NOT something he would normally do. He’s meticulous about putting things away. Not even I would put the hair dryer in the sink and I’m not all that meticulous.
I haven't asked him about it, because I forgot. Perhaps he'll tell me what he was thinking after he reads this...unless he doesn't read it. Or he'll forget because it's clear to me that he's suffering from daddy brain.