The Fletcher Household Morning Experience

I am awakened from a deep sleep by the teething baby of the year, Little A. (On some days that 'A' stands for 'Angel', and on other days, well, you can use your imagination). My mother, who is visiting and helping us out while I undergo chemotherapy, has managed to prepare some bottles and has left one out on the counter just for this occasion. I stumble up the spiral staircase and reach for the bottle, pointing it in Little A's direction, plopping my pajama clad rear into the rocking chair in the dark. We rock, he eats, I doze off every five minutes or so, the bottle falls out of his mouth, he screams to high heaven, I awaken and return it to his mouth, and we start the cycle again.

I hear a faint "zzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzz" in the background. Peering over in the direction of the noise and squinting in the dark, I see my husband crashed out on the couch, still in his suit from work. The groceries he stopped and picked up for me at the store are sprawled out at his feet on the floor. Poor thing was too tired to put them up, and was obviously too tired to even make it to the bed to sleep.

I shuffle over to the kitchen and turn on the coffee. I take my bug juice pills (chemo), along with some medicine for nausea and several other meds, then I patiently await the coffee, taking in it's glorious gourmet aroma as it permeates the kitchen at 6am. Mom stumbles into the living room, asking why I am awake this early. I mumble something about a baby, and plop my exhausted forehead on the counter in frustration. DH snores away in the background, oblivious to the world.

I decide that I could hold down the anti-nausea meds if I had some food in my stomach, so I decide to cook the only thing my stomach can handle lately, EGGS. Ask anyone who has ever gone through chemo. The best types of foods that won't come back up are eggs, pizza and double quarter pounders with cheese. Mr. Trouble Maker (the three year old in the house), wakes up wining about his diaper (he still refuses to potty train). I go into his room to check the damage. The diaper is as full as a hot air balloon, and Mr. Trouble Maker now needs a bath. I strip him down and give him a quick bath.

I make it back to the kitchen to enjoy my coffee while Mr. Trouble Maker quickly devours my eggs. So much for breakfast. "More eggs Muma". 6 eggs and four pieces of toast later, Mr. Trouble Maker is full. Little A is now complaining in baby language due to boredom, so we decide that a round of Baby Einstein shows on the tube will do the trick.

In the meantime, DH is rousing slowly, sighing pititfully in between turning over to one side and then the other on the couch. Mr. Trouble Maker spots him and screams, "Dadaaaaaaaaaaaaa" in his highest coloratura soprano voice, pouncing on poor DH, who has now had less than three hours of sleep and is too tired to fight it. All I hear is a low, rumbling sound followed by a "Coleeeeeeee come onnnnnn" and then more snoring. One diaper needs changed again, then another...each baby needs their meds from the bronchitis that has been passed around the family for over a week now. Little A's meds are pink, and they dribble down the side of his mouth each time they are administered, staining his clothes and mine. Mr T takes his meds like a champ, considering it a grown up priviledge to have them, opening his mouth wide like a bird and grinning as he ingests each of them, and then saying thank you, which sounds like, "sank too muma".

We have now progressed from Baby Einstein to the mid-morning "Blues Clues". I am aware that some of you reading this may think I am depriving my son of outdoor time, but we are caught in a snowstorm with close to seven feet of snow in our yard, and the danger of even walking in our yard is high, therefore we are stuck indoors right now. Mr. T insists upon having something on the tube, even though he is doing anything except watching it. Instead he persists in chasing the dog and attempting to ride her like a horsie. It is Little A's naptime. By the time I get him down in his bassinet, which I keep in our bedroom, DH has proceeded to wake up and is in the bedroom struggling to find his fav. pair of undies (which have been right in front of his face for two weeks straight). "Hon have you seen my new undies?" Without answering, I walk patiently down the stairs and into the bedroom, reaching into the bottom drawer and pulling out a brand new pair of gray undies in less than five seconds. "Ohh. Thanks". Little A is not happy that we woke him on the count of lost drawers, and is wailing to be picked up. I stuff his pacifier back in his mouth, pull the blanket over him and make the "Shhhh" sound on my lips, directed towards my husband, who is now pulling his closet apart looking for a clean work shirt. "Try under the bed", I mumble.

Mornings are always such an experience around here.....