Anti-Breakfast of Champions

Sleep is not a term I'm terribly familiar with. Sometimes because of work - either of the clickety-clackety variety, or of the "OMFG THERE'S NO WAY THREE PEOPLE CAN ACCUMULATE THIS MANY DISHES" as the dog-hair tumbleweeds amble by" variety. Sometimes by choice, because the house is so very quiet and peaceful when everyone is sleeping, and I can catch up on email and the latest episodes of award-winning television like "America's Best Dance Crew" or "Ice Loves Coco" in peace (Don't you judge me. That's some good stuff right there.) . And sometimes because The Child - regardless of how deeply ensconced she is in a Daddy's Girl phase - feels the need to ask ME burning questions at 3 AM like "Where does air goes when the fan blows it?" or "Do you fink I can wear a dress later?" or "Is the sun behind the moon at nighttime?" I am also the go-to gal for nightmares, any illness, monsters chasing, and the 6 AM pancake request. Don't get me wrong - I wouldn't have it any other way. But I do forget what 4 consecutive hours of sleep feels like.

Sunday was one such morning. Due to customers taking "endless coffee refills" to a whole new level, I got home from waitressing around 11:30 Saturday night. I took care of a couple of things, chitty-chattied with the hubby for a few minutes, and probably went to bed around 1 AM. Around 3 AM, I heard little shuffling footsteps, followed by "Mommy? I got bad dreams." Aww, baby, what's wrong? "Dere's spikes falling on my head, and fishies jumping out of da water to eat me." ....even at 3 AM I can recognize the Water World level of old school Super Mario Brother's 3. No more Nintendo for you. "I'm just gonna sleep wif you." Come on in. For approximately every 15 minutes after that, she shifted, rolled, starfished, ninja-ed away my pillow, snatched the covers, and in one unfortunate personal decision, suggested I move to her bed so she and Daddy had more room. I finally moved to the couch for my own sanity. Imagine my dismay when a half an hour later, I opened my eyes and was staring into two little white eyesballs an inch from mine. "Hey Mommy. Is you lonely??" It was almost a relief when we got up at 6:15.

Unfortunately, I was a complete zombie. When she announced she was hungry, I pointed wordlessly to the kitchen table and then got out a box of cereal. "Hey Mommy, how about panc...." - a single Mommy glare quelled that request before it could even come to full fruition. I poured her a bowl, sliced in some bananas, tripped over the dog, splashed in (and around) some milk, and then stumbled to the table. I set down the cereal bowl, said "Eat", and collapsed in my own chair. When I didn't hear the scraping of the spoon on a bowl, or the crunchcrunch of delicious Rice Crispies, I blearily looked up to see what the problem was. There, in my daughter's booster seat, properly belted in and smiling vacantly, cloth arms open in welcome, was a Cabbage Patch Kid doll. I paused, trying to get a grasp on the situation. Hallucinating? I hope not. I looked around, but The Child was nowhere to be seen. "Uhh...MacKenzie?" No answer. I poked the doll with the spoon, half-expecting it to yell "Ow!" or "Surprise!!!" Luckily, there was no answer.

Before I could really panic, MacKenzie wandered into the kitchen. "I had to go potty." Awesome. Thank you for making me question my sanity before 7 AM. Eat your cereal. I waited to make sure she was actually going to start eating, and put my head back down. Then a high, squeaky voice said "I sure am hungry." I lifted my head and met her angelic expression. "Mommy. I fink my baby is hungry." Path of least resistance. I got up, poured cereal into a ramekin, put one piece of banana and a tablespoon of milk in, found a baby spoon at the back of the drawer, and set it out in front of the doll. I almost dislocated my arm mentally patting myself on the back...surely this makes me eligible for some sort of parenting award. I had just settled back in with my eyes closed, when the high squeaky voice said "I wish someone would feed me some ceweal." You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding. I didn't even look up. "MacKenzie my love, YOU are the mommy. When you were a baby, I fed you, because I was the mommy. Since this is your baby, it is your job to make sure she is happy and fed. I...am the baby's grandma."

Blessed, beautiful silence.

"I wish Grandma would feed me some ceweal. She is da best Grandma ever."

I opened my mouth, to yell, to scream, to plead for help, but all that came out were waves of helpless giggles. Soon MacKenzie joined in, as the dog ran around us barking, and the baby doll smiled on benevolently.

Just another Sunday morning. :)