Last Sunday started like any other weekend morning...Steve and I were awoken by the dreaded (but still cute) call of the Mia. Usually it starts with a "moooooooooomy". Sometimes she will switch it up and call out for "daaaaaaaaaady". Sometimes she alternates between the two and sometimes, when we are really lucky, she even adds a "Mommy, Mia peed". Lovely. Anyway, after a few minutes of debating about who would get up first, Steve caved and got out of bed. At this point the calls to us had escalated to an annoyed "get me out of this crib" cry and Sophia had woken up and was crying as well. But at that point I didn't care because I knew Steve would handle it. I was just psyched to be able to close my eyes for a few extra minutes.
So, a few minutes pass (maybe longer if I fell asleep and didn't even realize it) and the girls are still fussing. With each minute of crying/fussing, my anxiety is increasing. Where is Steve? Did he get lost on the way to their rooms (answer could not be "yes" given that we live in a teeny, tiny house)? How could he be so insensitive? My poor girls were upset and they just wanted to get out of "baby jail" (aka, their cribs). By this time I had heard the toilet flush, the sink running, the medicine cabinet open and close, the fridge and various cabinets open, and what I thought was the microwave turn on. Um, hello?? Just as I was about to have a panic attack (and go get them myself), I hear a door open and I hear him talking to Mia. Thank goodness! Of course, poor Soph's cries didn't mean that daddy was going to move any faster. She just had to wait her turn.
This is by no means meant to insult my husband. In fact, just the opposite. This particular instance made me think about so many mornings where I have been the one to get up with the girls. There have been numerous times where the first thing that I have thought when I woke up in the morning was, "Oh my God! I have to pee so badly." *Don't judge...obviously my dreams are pretty dull. But before I did anything about it I was distracted by a sweet, little voice (or a loud, angry cry) calling out to me. Instead of doing what my husband would do (um, go to the bathroom), I have just gone ahead and gotten the girls up. There have been days where I have gotten them dressed, breakfast served, lunches and diaper bags packed, and out the door before I have remembered that I ever had to pee. I know that this a lot of information for some of you, so I apologize. But my point is that I have actually forgotten to pee. This is a problem (not to mention a sure-fire way to guarantee a bad bladder!).
One of the biggest gripes that I hear from most of my female friends about their boyfriends or husbands is that they tend to take care of themselves while we tend to take care of them, our parents, our kids, our pets, our friends, our neighbors, and then, if we have time, ourselves. I have complained about this myself. But are they so wrong? Is it wrong that Steve is able to let the girls cry for a couple more minutes so he can...uh, pee? Nope! In fact, at the end of the day he will probably be the better parent because he is taking care of himself. (Please do NOT ever tell him that I said this. It will ruin me.)
So, the question is to pee or not to pee? Do I deserve a medal because I sacrifice my bladder so my kids don't have to stay in baby jail? Nope! All I deserve is a big glass of cranberry juice and a kick in the a$$! Lesson learned!
Until next time...
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