I wake in the morning to a young baby nuzzling closer to me, sleepily searching for his breakfast. His eyes flutter open, then closed again as he latches to nurse. I sigh, smile, sleepily wish for a few moments longer, closing my eyes but not sleeping. What time is it? Who knows?
Some time has passed when the loud footsteps that I know are an attempt at quiet tiptoe patter through my bedroom door. Baby had fallen asleep, but now his eyes open and he smiles and kicks Dad in the ribs. Another small boy launches himself into the bed, asking for breakfast before I can even say good morning. What time is it? I don't know, but I hear the rooster crowing and sunlight is peeking around the curtain over our heads.
Dad wakes; it's hard not to when two pairs of feet are using your back to launch across the bed. He turns over, the baby grabs his face, the small boy crushes me with snuggles, and once again asks for his breakfast and some juice. Diaper is needed, food is being demanded, my eyes are still only half open, but the day is beginning and taking me with it, willingly or not, so I might as well get into it.
Bathroom break lasts only a few minutes; quickly, brush teeth, put up hair, toilet, deodorant, a small knock sounds at the door, again demanding breakfast and asking if he can pee outside.
The kettle goes on the stove, the pan heats up, eggs are being fried, oatmeal being boiled, bagels pop up from the toaster. My eyes are still only half open, but now the kitchen smells like coffee so I can pretend there's not dishes in the sink from last night for a little longer.
Dad stumbles into the kitchen, smiling baby in hand. Has his diaper been changed yet? This morning it has. Baby goes into the playpen, Dad stumbles past me to the bathroom with a low 'good morning' on his breath, and a kiss for me on his lips. He's still asleep too.
Is the juice ready? Can I have tea instead? What are you cooking? What can we do today? I'm hungry.
Happy shrieks emit from the playpen, I know he's ready for breakfast too. How did he get big enough to sit at the table and eat with us so quickly? Wasn't he just born yesterday?
Breakfast is on the table, baby in the highchair, small boy munching away happily, taking brief moments between a torrent of questions to chew and swallow. Dad sips his coffee groggily, already hearing his phone in the next room as the rest of the world is demanding his attention for work, but for right now they can wait because he's here with us. The chickens are clucking for their breakfast, the ducks are quacking to be fed, but finally the children are eating and I can sit down.
Baby gets bites of oatmeal cereal between bites of hot oatmeal for me. My coffee is only halfway finished when Dad is getting up, getting dressed, going out with small boy to feed the animals. He's got more questions for Dad, and a huge grin on his face, because any day he can go outside with Dad is a good day.
Coffee is gone, laundry gets put on, baby gets wiped down, squealing on my hip while I whisk away the remains of breakfast and pile the dishes in the sink along with the ones from last night's dinner. Will they get washed today before bed? Sometimes they will.
How long have we been awake? Too long, but not long enough. Dad has to get to work; people are depending on him. Sometimes the work is nearby, as close as the front yard, sometimes the work is hours away. The small boy likes going with Dad, but not today. We've got schoolwork and chores today.
Laughter, squeals, barnyard clucking, Dad is hammering away at something outside, small boy is playing noisily in the playroom, baby wants to be held but my hands are full of bustling work. That's okay, he'll ride on my hip and kiss my neck while I sweep breakfast off the floor with one hand. The ball is rolling, and it won't slow down until everyone falls asleep. When will that be? Who knows?
It's only been an hour since we woke up.
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