I wake up to the sound of my toddler yelling in shock.
My eyes blast open to check the lit up monitor, which displays my son fidgeting but still lying down, presumably trying to go back to sleep. I wonder what on earth is disturbing him.
I reluctantly get out of bed, start to make my way to his bedroom and discover the cat scratching at his door. She looks up and licks her paw.
It then dawns on me that this is my feline’s objective. She woke up my son knowing it would get me out of bed, for I ignore her when she scratches at my bedroom door. She thought that getting me up was bringing her one step closer to having her breakfast served.
She meows at me lovingly as she brushes past me and makes her way to the stairs.
She turns back to check if I’m following her.
Not clever enough.
Knowing my son is OK and has managed to fall asleep again, I look at the cat and threaten her not to disturb us again until it’s time to get up. She walks off.
I get up, having failed to go back to sleep. However, positivity floods my mind as my son is still sleeping peacefully. I am excited for the creativity emerging as I rush downstairs, make coffee, feed the cat, and sit at my laptop ready to put those ideas into words. The birds are singing, the sun is shining, and I think to myself what a wonderful day it’s going be.
Son is awake.
I slam the laptop closed and gulp the coffee.
Ideas attempt to claw their way out of my brain but I fight for them to stay just a little bit longer, for I will get a moment to write them down eventually.
While I breastfeed Toddler I use my phone to jot down some notes before they escape my mind, ideas to be conquered and spread through my writing.
My spawn, still lying on my lap breastfeeding, lands a highly professional ninja kick to my hand, sending my precious device flying to the floor, a few feet away from me.
My ideas proceed to float out of my mind into a black hole, their mocking laughter echoing into a fading silence of failure and misery.
I decide I can win by writing if only Mr 18 Months becomes distracted for long enough. I know just what he needs. A very famous TV show. I put it on and as predicted, my son is engrossed in it. I grab my phone and start typing.
We are both engrossed in the said TV show.
I learned how to count up to 10 in Mandarin.
Exterior forces of the world – 1, Mami – 0.
. . .
I start preparing lunch but Toddler does not appreciate that I have become unavailable to play with him, so he proceeds to bite my a**.
As if on cue, Hubby comes downstairs at this precise moment and witnesses the crime. Yes! Help!
He immediately comes to the rescue so I can check for blood and carry on cooking.
He laughs, naming his son the Booty Biter, high fives his child, and walks back upstairs to his office.
I thank him yet again for his (lack of) input as Partner Parent.
I am left with a toddler who now thinks biting me is fun while I attempt to make a semi-nutritious meal.
The Toddler has gone for his afternoon nap after half-eating his food and I rush around trying to make some order in my so-called home.
I am booming with pride at how well my son is learning to develop his skills as I marvel over his works of art — the stacked up tower of cups.
Then I find squashed blueberries inside one of the cups and convince myself it is his way of exploring textures.
My third cup today, but the first I will drink for pleasure, for the purpose of the first two were to keep me alive enough to get through my son’s energetic state.
I enjoy the silence and actually get some work done.
Nap over, Dri uses me as his guide to the Bookshelf, where he grabs 6 or 7 books and sends them tumbling down.
He looks at me and claps, proud of his scattering skills. He then points to them, demanding for me to kneel down so His Highness can start playing with them.
Desperate to go to the bathroom, I attempt to guide Spawn up the stairs since he cannot be left unattended even for a minute. He disagrees with me and proceeds to run in the opposite direction towards the garden.
Having dragged him to the bathroom, away from all other entertainment, Mr Dri decides there and then he must climb onto me and tuck himself in for a great big hug. He then grabs the toilet paper which, for a millisecond, makes me celebrate quietly how clever he is knowing I’ll need it.
He throws himself down to the floor to play with the toilet paper and attempts to throw it into the bath.
I look over to the untouched box of toys in the corner and wonder what their purpose actually is, since my son does not play with them.
The Booty Biter in bed, I am left with the task of arranging things so I can enjoy a clutter-free home even if for a few hours before it gets destroyed again tomorrow by our darling Tornado.
Finally, I join my hubby in the living room, ready to relax for the evening and chat about today’s events.
Talking to another adult really breaks up the day for me, so I welcome this. I start to make light conversation.
In less than a minute, I hear a yawn which turns into full blast snoring just seconds later.
I am left alone. I will just make do with a Netflix show with the added side of subtitles and comfort food.
I climb up the stairs, looking forward to reading a few pages of my rom-com. It takes me a while to realise that as I’m getting ready for bed I’m actually humming a fast-paced nursery rhyme that goes “I think I need a potty, quick quick quick!”. I tell myself to listen to normal music more often.
My eyelids close after reading a few sentences.
I’m no longer interested in what happens in the fantasy world that is in the book for I’m quite happy with my real story.
I go to sleep with a smile on my face knowing my family is safe, healthy, and happy.
This post was previously published on A Parent Is Born.
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