You wake up because you hear the baby crying. Hubby walks in and says "Do you want me to bring him in here?" You tell him yes because you feel like you have been hit by a truck. He brings the baby in and you ask "where is will?" You ask because Will never sleeps this late, and sure enough he is up, playing in his room. You take it as a good sign that he is up playing must be feeling better. The baby is happy, crawling all over the bed, he must be feeling better too.
As much as you would like to stay in bed a while longer you have to get up because hubby is leaving for work, and the baby can't be trusted to not throw himself off the side of the bed. So you gather the troops and head downstairs to the promise of freshly brewed coffee waiting for you in the pot.
You come downstairs, change the baby's diaper, get him a bottle, put on PBS for the older boy, get him a sippy cup of milk, pour your coffee, sit down to the laptop, and the whining begins.
Ben is tired, Will's mouth hurts and you can just tell he is sick of being sick. doesn't want to watch tv, but doesn't feel well enough to be up and playing.
You take a minute to go get dressed because must have bra on, can't stand floppy boobies. Decide there is no point putting real clothes on and pick things that don't match but are comfortable knowing full well by the end of this day you will be covered in copious amounts of baby drool, medicine that doesn't make it into the kids, formula, and food the oldest boy spits out cause it hurts his mouth.
Every five minutes the older one shrieks cause his mouth or throat hurt, the baby crawls around looking exhausted and crying.
It's 8am, gonna be a long day.
Dance Shoe Diaries
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