Today, I fumbled out of bed, completely unaware of the day or time. It took me awhile to remember who I was or what the plan was for the day. I fumbled for my alarm clock. It read 6:15 a.m. Not bad. Since my little boy still appeared to be sleeping, I might actually have a chance to do my twenty minute Pilates workout. Then, maybe, just maybe, I can even fumble around with Twitter and send out some interesting tweets.
The excitement grew as I fumbled down the stairs and grabbed my Pilates mat. I was just about to start my DVD when I heard a slight moan coming from the upstairs nursery. Would my husband be willing to help me? I glanced over and saw that he was still sleeping soundly in his recliner. (The poor guy was having back issues last night. I heard him fumble out of bed and go downstairs to get comfortable.)
The moan sounded again. Crap! Do I just try to fumble through the exercises and wait until the moans get louder, or do I go upstairs to rescue my hungry, little boy? I fumbled for an answer.
When the moans turned to laughter, I couldn’t resist. I had to pick up my little boy. He was in a good mood and eager to start the day. “I’m here, Lil’ Lewie. Mom’s coming in to get you.” I bent over the crib and fumbled to pick him up along with his favorite blanky that he was not ready to relinquish yet.
“Hi Lewie. Good morning Sunshine!” He laughed as I fumbled to kiss his forehead a gazillion times. “Let’s go downstairs so Mama can warm up your milk and change your diaper.” We fumbled down the stairs together as he likes to practice walking down the stairs and using the railing like a big boy. “Don’t get ahead of me,” I reminded him as his little feet fumbled to find each stair. He needed mom’s support for balance.
As we reached the bottom step, I gave Lil’ Lewie permission to wake his daddy in the recliner (I’m such a good wife) while I fumbled to find Lewie’s milk in the refrigerator. While warming up the milk, I picked up Lil’ Lewie and brought him to our make-shift changing table. He squirmed and squirmed, hoping to win the struggle. Although I fumbled, I was not letting him get out of this one. He had a big, nasty, poopy diaper. One fumble, and the Hershey squirts would be all over the table, me, and possibly the carpet. “You have to stay still, Lil’ Lewie,” I said calmly as my right arm fumbled for the baby wipes and my left arm fumbled to keep his body still. I wiped up the poop as quickly as possible while fumbling to get his diaper cream and a clean diaper at the same time. This wasn’t a balancing act; this was a fumbling act, as there was nothing graceful about the struggle. “Keep still,” I said, fumbling to fasten the last Velcro strap.
Once we were done, Lil’ Lewie eagerly ran into the living room. He knew his morning routine. Mommy would place him in his high chair while he drank his milk and watched his favorite morning cartoons. “Come here,” I directed Lewie while fumbling with the straps to the high chair. He grabbed the remote and fumbled with the channels. “Here, let me take care of that,” I told Lewie as I fumbled to grasp the remote control from him. He knew this was one of the items in the house that he was not allowed to touch, which made him want to do it even more.
I tapped Daddy on the shoulder, waking him out of his sleep. “It’s time to go in the shower, hun,” I reminded him as I went back in the kitchen and fumbled with his lunch. There were not a lot of choices; we were out of food.
I could bore everyone with additional trivialities of daily life with a two year-old, but I’m going to stop here. Toddlers are unpredictable. They get excited, they take temper tantrums, they get stubborn, they get inquisitive, and they fumble. Until my little boy is older and doesn’t need to rely on me for everything, I fumble right along with him. We have plans to go to the park, to meet up with a play date, and to go grocery shopping later in the evening, but none of my goals for the day go exactly as planned. For now, I fumble through my days with an open mind and an open heart.
The excitement grew as I fumbled down the stairs and grabbed my Pilates mat. I was just about to start my DVD when I heard a slight moan coming from the upstairs nursery. Would my husband be willing to help me? I glanced over and saw that he was still sleeping soundly in his recliner. (The poor guy was having back issues last night. I heard him fumble out of bed and go downstairs to get comfortable.)
The moan sounded again. Crap! Do I just try to fumble through the exercises and wait until the moans get louder, or do I go upstairs to rescue my hungry, little boy? I fumbled for an answer.
When the moans turned to laughter, I couldn’t resist. I had to pick up my little boy. He was in a good mood and eager to start the day. “I’m here, Lil’ Lewie. Mom’s coming in to get you.” I bent over the crib and fumbled to pick him up along with his favorite blanky that he was not ready to relinquish yet.
“Hi Lewie. Good morning Sunshine!” He laughed as I fumbled to kiss his forehead a gazillion times. “Let’s go downstairs so Mama can warm up your milk and change your diaper.” We fumbled down the stairs together as he likes to practice walking down the stairs and using the railing like a big boy. “Don’t get ahead of me,” I reminded him as his little feet fumbled to find each stair. He needed mom’s support for balance.
As we reached the bottom step, I gave Lil’ Lewie permission to wake his daddy in the recliner (I’m such a good wife) while I fumbled to find Lewie’s milk in the refrigerator. While warming up the milk, I picked up Lil’ Lewie and brought him to our make-shift changing table. He squirmed and squirmed, hoping to win the struggle. Although I fumbled, I was not letting him get out of this one. He had a big, nasty, poopy diaper. One fumble, and the Hershey squirts would be all over the table, me, and possibly the carpet. “You have to stay still, Lil’ Lewie,” I said calmly as my right arm fumbled for the baby wipes and my left arm fumbled to keep his body still. I wiped up the poop as quickly as possible while fumbling to get his diaper cream and a clean diaper at the same time. This wasn’t a balancing act; this was a fumbling act, as there was nothing graceful about the struggle. “Keep still,” I said, fumbling to fasten the last Velcro strap.
Once we were done, Lil’ Lewie eagerly ran into the living room. He knew his morning routine. Mommy would place him in his high chair while he drank his milk and watched his favorite morning cartoons. “Come here,” I directed Lewie while fumbling with the straps to the high chair. He grabbed the remote and fumbled with the channels. “Here, let me take care of that,” I told Lewie as I fumbled to grasp the remote control from him. He knew this was one of the items in the house that he was not allowed to touch, which made him want to do it even more.
I tapped Daddy on the shoulder, waking him out of his sleep. “It’s time to go in the shower, hun,” I reminded him as I went back in the kitchen and fumbled with his lunch. There were not a lot of choices; we were out of food.
I could bore everyone with additional trivialities of daily life with a two year-old, but I’m going to stop here. Toddlers are unpredictable. They get excited, they take temper tantrums, they get stubborn, they get inquisitive, and they fumble. Until my little boy is older and doesn’t need to rely on me for everything, I fumble right along with him. We have plans to go to the park, to meet up with a play date, and to go grocery shopping later in the evening, but none of my goals for the day go exactly as planned. For now, I fumble through my days with an open mind and an open heart.
This post is for the word game, Word Up, Yo! hosted by Natalie (Mommy of a Monster), Kristin (Taming Insanity) and Liz (a belle, a bean and a chicago dog).
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Love the word game! Thanks for sharing!
ReplyDeleteThanks so much for joining in! I think this is the most major fumbling ever. :)
ReplyDeletetoo funny. Thank you for sharing...i fumble a bit too.
ReplyDelete