The other morning I was awakened (why yes, I am channeling my inner 19th century English author today) at 5:45am by Kiel climbing over me and yelling “I wet, I wet.” He then proceeded to the area at the foot of the bed where we keep the diapers and do most of his diaper/clothes changes and lay himself down. As I stumbled out of bed I felt every damn self-defense move I did in karate the two days prior and moaned. It was also still dark in the room, and with Kiel in his dark pajamas I came very close to stepping directly on him as I fumbled my way past him to the bathroom. Because he was the one that peed already, not me.
My needs taken care of I changed his diaper and then at his insistence his pajamas too. Of course if he could have done more than just cry and whine at that point all of this would have happened faster because I wouldn’t have had to try and figure out why the hell he was still freaking out.
I then found my way downstairs to get him his “bok” (milk) while he screamed in the bedroom because I didn’t take him with me.
Milk was obtained and we both made it back to bed where Kiel positioned himself as close to me as possible without actually crawling back up inside me. He then spent the next several minutes stroking my left ear lobe and alternately whimpering and drinking from his sippy cup. Thankfully we both drifted back to sleep.
That is until the bedroom door opened at 6:05am to Noah urgently yelling “emergency, emergency, I pooped in the toilet.”
Since I refuse to deal with poop in anyone over six years old and Rich is a smart enough man to know that I’d just dealt with one kid, and it was his turn, he rolled himself out of bed to figure out what about pooping in the toilet constituted an emergency. (Just in case you are interested the emergency part was that it was one of Noah's trademarked "explosive" poops and it was in a few other places than just the toilet. All together now - ewwww!)
By the time Rich returned to bed Kiel had once again crawled over me to get out of bed. This time he was insisting that I turn the TV on so he could watch “Wow, Wow Wubzy,” which of course I do because hearing him say “Wow, Wow Wubzy” is about the most adorable thing ever.
Rich and I then had five minutes to pretend the alarm wasn’t about to go off, before in fact it did go off. I once again stumbled my way to the bathroom where my 42 year-old bladder insisted I pee again. As I sat there taking care of business Rich came in and said the sweetest words.
“Happy 10th Anniversary!”
I had to laugh. And then I promised him that in another ten years we would not be starting our anniversary off like that, because by then our kids would definitely not be sleeping in our bed or still need help wiping their ass. (Oh please don’t let them still be in our bed or need help wiping their ass.)
“Yeah, but they’ll be 13 and 17…It’ll be something.”
And he’s correct, but I know I’ll still be waking up with him, and that we’ll continue to see the humor and love in raising these crazy kids of ours.
I can’t imagine sharing this insane life with anyone else. Happy ten year anniversary my love!