I woke up this morning…all by myself…without being awakened by the Mush Man. I don’t know if you understand the magnitude of this experience. I woke up because I was no longer tired; not because a little stowaway in my bed was no longer tired. It was sinfully amazing! I stretched in my sheets, smiled like an idiot and took some deep breaths. Then, I went to roll over, and that is when I had a rude awakening. Not only had I woken up of my own accord, but I had also not got up during the night, which is cool but…. MY LEFT BOOB FELT LIKE AN ENGAGED TORPEDO, READY TO EXPLODE AT ANY MINUTE!
I looked over at the Mush Man, and he was still completely asleep. I didn’t know what to do. Oh, the irony of sleeping a glorious six hours only to wake up and realize that your chest has inadvertently become a missile silo! I was pissed, but determined to enjoy this “me” time because it probably would never, ever, ever, ever happen again.
Here were my options:
1. Wake the baby up. Yeah, right! Who in their right mind wakes a sleeping baby? I had some precious “me” time on my hands and was not about to end it by waking up a sleeping baby. At least not at this point…
2. Pump. Yuck! I don’t mind pumping. Actually, I find it to be my own personal competition that I like to call the battle of the boobs…I know, I know TMI. Anyways, pumping when you’re packing torpedoes in your bra sucks. Your boob doesn’t fit in the little cup the right way and is hyper sensitive. Not to mention, I hate the noise that the pump makes. To me, it sounds like it is chanting “you suck, you suck, you suck” in some creepy Manson-esque voice. Weird, I know. So pumping was out of the picture.
3. Hand expression. Yeah, I can’t actually do this. My boobs basically are on strike unless a baby or loud “you suck” chanting machine is in their presence.
4. Let it all hang out: It was cold! For the first morning in forever, it was freezing! I didn’t need a torpedo that was cold enough to cut glass, so that was out.
5. Shower: Winner, winner chicken dinner!
Just as I started to get out of bed to shower, the Mush Man began to stir. Sweet! A nice long nursing session after having slept all night would be a thousand times better than a shower. I whipped out the torpedo, the Mush Man latched on and….HE WENT BACK TO SLEEP! What kind of cruel , sick child had I raised? I tried to wake him up. Nothing! He actually had the nerve to unlatch and turn his head.
Alright, not a problem. I could still enjoy my “me” time. I decided to quietly get out of bed to sneak into the shower, but I swear the moment I moved the blankets, my husband walked into the bedroom and went into the shower. GRRRR!
That was the last straw. I broke my cardinal rule of not waking up a sleeping baby. I opened the blinds, flung open the sliding door and pulled the covers off of the little booger. Guess what? NOTHING HAPPENED! This is the same kid who wakes upon me turning a door knob or blinking! Today, I probably could have performed Hairspray in my bedroom, on the bed, and he wouldn’t have flinched!
My husband was still in the shower, so I decided to go downstairs to make myself breakfast. I would be the martyr, enjoying “me” time in pain. But then…
“Mom, can you turn on a show for me!”
The Monkey Boy, the killer of silence, bounded up the stairs. Instantly, the Mush Man’s eyes opened. I walked down the stairs, turned on Handy Manny and on my way back, heard the Mush Man began to cry a little. HALLELUJAH! I bounded up the stairs, ecstatic at the notion of being able to disengage the missile silo.
I slid in to bed, the Mush Man latched on and peace was restored to my bra.