Dear Me and You, Cold Brew and Crickets
Dear Me and You,
I’m sitting in our TV room with a cold brew in hand and it’s… hold on, my vision is still a bit blurry because it’s so fucking early in the morning, and there it is, the focus of my vision– it’s 5:53AM. Cool.
I’m awake because in the deepest of deep sleep, which always seems to be happening right before I’m woken up I hear from the tiny monitor speaker on my bedside table, “Mama. I up. Mama, hello. I up.” Cool.
I sit up, swing my feet over, careful not to take out the middle little human who is sleeping on the floor bed. I grab the monitor and hold down the button with a microphone icon, “Okay kid. I’ll be there right there. Going to put my pee in the toilet first.”
My business handled I go get the baby who is still trapped within the confines of her crib– that’s the plan until she can climb out and we’re in no rush to encourage that milestone. She’s standing, clutching onto her blanket and Elsa. She smiles, squeals, and jumps up and down when she sees me; she is also proud to share, “Diaper off.” Cool.
As I lift her out and tell her to select some chonies she runs down the list (the same list every morning) of her family members requiring an update to their status. “Sloanie, sleep? Dad, work? Tessa?” I answer her accordingly. And before I can answer the status of Tessa, she is entering the room. More squeals and an embrace exchange. We all meander to the TV room. I warm up some milk for Daphne and as I’m pouring my cold brew I ask Tessa, “Do you want a snack?” She responds, “Not right now. I got to poop.” Cool.
I’m sitting in our TV room with a cold brew in hand and it’s 5:53AM. I open up my Kindle, eager to continue reading, The School for Good Mothers (a brilliant novel that highlights the problematic nature of expectations in motherhood) and just after completing a singular sentence I hear a lot of ruckus traveling from the bathroom. Naturally, I want to shout, “What in God’s name is going on in there?” I don’t. I hear banging. I hear the bath toys clattering. It’s silent for a moment; cool.
I read another sentence, maybe two. Boom. Bang. I then hear a big exhale. So, I ask, “Um, what’s going on in there? Are you okay?” The kid responds, “Mom, I’m trying to save this cricket. I don’t want her to die. She’s trapped in our bathtub.” I take a drink from my hazelnut flavored cold brew and respond. “Did you finish pooping?” A bit exasperated, “Yeah.” And before I utter the next questions, she adds, “I flushed the toilet and washed my hands.” I take another drink, “Awesome, I’ll help save the cricket.”
Cool.
We made it through another day, me and you. Kudos.