So it happened, my little sweetheart finally slept through the night again! (Edit: According to my husband the baby actually did wake up around 1:30am, I just slept through it.) I awoke this morning to the beautiful sound of his high pitched chattering through the baby monitor a few minutes before our alarms were about to go off. I wasn’t necessarily well rested but had more consecutive sleep than I had been granted all weekend, so I was without complaint. So began our work week routine:
He nursed and I sang; after some perseverance and gentle back rubs I was rewarded with a hearty burp from his . He nursed some more and I told him about a strange dream that had ended less than an hour earlier. Belly full, my little darling sat up and quietly watched the cats, eyes wide, the sound of his father’s shower audible from across the hall.
As I blindly snuggled his sweet, soft face with my lips, caressing him and professing my undying adoration to him a thousand times over, his small, rose colored mouth opened up without warning and emptied out about five minutes worth of milk onto me, missing my open mouth by less than an inch.
We stared at each other in awkward silence, my mouth still frozen open mid sentence. My eyes were wide as I felt his warm breakfast glue my hair to exposed skin and continue to roll down my face, neck and down the inside of my shirt. His gray swaddle sack was also soaked in the front, and I scooped him up to get him ready for the day, only pausing to wipe my wet face with part of my shirt that had escaped unscathed.
My husband walked into the baby’s room, freshly finished with his own shower, smelling delicious and eager to swap places so I could get ready for work. He began talking and I stared at him. He paused, letting out an audible “Eeeuuck,” after his eyes focused on me. “Why didn’t you call me to help? Jeez, looks like a case of the Mondays.”