Sour Milk

I rub the warm sand between my toes and soak up the hot sun… I look down and realize that I am beautifully tan. Wow- I haven’t been this tan in years. My body looks great. Who knew I could look this good without working out? I am rocking this bikini. Jack and Ben are playing happily in the sand by my feet and life is good. I needed this. This is the perfect vacation. I’ve been so busy lately and sitting here, doing nothing, feels absolutely fabulous. I take another sip of my fruity cocktail and try to get comfortable in my beach chair.

Crap. Ben just threw sand in Jack’s face… He’s crying. There goes my perfect day… His crying escalates to screaming… It’s okay, little guy- Ben didn’t mean it…. He won’t calm down… Screaming…. screaming…. screaming… My eyes pop open.

It’s pitch black and an icy 55 degrees in my bedroom. I’m wearing a shirt that smells like sour milk and there is something unidentifiably sticky in my hair. The screaming continues. I try to focus on my bedside clock which blasts 3:02am in an obnoxious bright neon green. Jack is still screaming and my husband is lying next to me snoring loudly like a grizzly bear.

It’s times like this that I briefly contemplate taking my pillow and holding it firmly over my husband’s face…. And then I realize I don’t have time for that because if I don’t make a bottle soon and get to the baby, he’s going to wake Ben up, and then it will really be a party.

My mind flashes to the three bridal meetings I have in a few short hours- you know, for that thing I do for “work”, with the brides who are spending a ton on their wedding and expect me to be on my game; sans diaper cream in my hair. I make a mental note to throw out that annoying piece of shit bright clock first thing in the morning and stomp out to the kitchen.

Jack is sitting up in his crib when I walk in and he is pissed. You’d think we hadn’t fed this kid in days. I pick him up and give him a kiss. I’m tired, but he is still my baby. I lie him down next to me in the bed we have in his room and prop the bottle up to his lips. He grasps for it furiously as if he had been walking in the desert for weeks and I just offered him a sip from my canteen. I close my eyes for a second and listen to him gulp down his precious bottle.

“Mama, Mama, Mama, Mama. Mama. Mama. Mama? Mama? Mama!!! Wake up!! Wake up!!” I open one eye to see Ben standing next to the bed, tugging on the comforter. He’s become quite the crib escape artist and takes it upon himself to just get up every morning and come find me, much to my “delight”. The sun shinning through the blinds tells me it’s morning and I notice that my neck really hurts. I’ve been sleeping on about 3 inches of the bed, about to fall off, while Jack is spread out in the middle, peacefully sleeping with what almost looks like a smile on his face. Ben is babbling in toddler language, demanding Bear-e-Bears (Berenstein Bears) and that I get up immediately to dance to “Ring Around the Rosie” with him. I notice the bottle I had for Jack just hours earlier, is now almost empty and there is a huge wet spot where it had leaked onto the bed after I passed out. As an extra bonus, it’s soaked the bottom of my shirt. The mystery of my stinky shirt is solved and I can hear my husband snoring, probably sprawled out, in our big bed in our bedroom.

I sigh as Ben climbs into bed with Jack and I and as he cuddles in, I realize that I’m lucky… I’ve got two of the cutest guys on the block in bed with me and life couldn’t be any better than this.


5 thoughts on “Sour Milk

  1. Hilarious… Totally true! I just had a panic attack thinking back to those days. They weren’t so long ago and I believe we still have a long road ahead of us. Sigh. Thank God they are so damn cute!


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