Yesterday started like any other day.
Chloe stormed into our room at 4:35am shouting at me to change her wet diaper, her wet pajamas and her wet bed!
I wasn’t entirely sure how her p.j.’s and all bedding had become soaked until I remembered, Greg had put on her diaper prior to going to sleep.
At that time of morning, I wasn’t able to strip her bed and re-make it but I was able to muster up enough energy to wipe her down, change her diaper, her pajamas and invite her into Mommy & Daddy’s bed for the final 1.5 hours of coveted rest.
Chloe: I don’t like this bed! I don’t like this blanket!
In that moment, I didn’t like anything or anybody. I simply wanted to go back to sleep but it wasn’t meant to be so 4:35am, with someone kicking and shouting at me, would go down in my journal as the worst start to a day—ever and I’ve been in labour three times.
I realized by mid-morning, Chloe and I couldn’t hide our exhaustion. I was skipping not just words but full sentences and even pages in many of her books. She was even too tired to call me on it. She’d just gesture toward the book and then with a lengthy blink, forget why she wasted so much energy.
When I walked her up and down the street in her stroller, the fresh air while necessary, coupled with exercise, made me more tired than she was.
She chose clothes from her summer items and when I challenged her on whether or not she would be warm enough in a skirt and tank-top on a cool, fall day, she replied, “I can wear a dress! I’m a waitress!”
I took her to the school to pick up her sisters where she removed her diaper and held her skirt above her head for the duration of our wait. This is one strong-willed waitress. Someone from across the parking lot shouted, “You should blog about that!”
By the third hour as spectators at her sister’s swimming lessons, splitting our time running intervals up and down rec centre ramps, the other half outside where I was unable to find a sliver of grass in tag that wasn’t demarked “t,” we were fit to be tied.
That’s when she turned to me and asked, “Mommy, what does ice buy?”
I don’t know why I laughed, I guess because it was better than collapsing into a puddle of my own tears.
Me: What does ice buy? Ice doesn’t buy anything sweetie.
Chloe: What does ice buy?
Me: Does ice buy water?
Chloe: No, what does ICE BUY!!!!????
It took every ounce of strength in my body not to hurl myself over the waiting area ledge and start synchronizing my efforts along with the team but I knew I would just sink.
Then I heard a little girl a couple of rows over say, “Okay, my turn. I spy with my little eye, something that is blue.”
What is eye spy!