MP has started getting up at 5 a.m. This is a relatively new development, beginning without rhyme or reason, about two weeks ago. This, in and of itself, is an incredible drag. Add to it the fact that Mommypie’s not getting to bed until 3 a.m. most mornings (late, late, long distance phone calls with The Boy) and you have one crabby mama. Not to mention an exhausted, overly-emotional nearly-5-year-old.
Case in point — this morning, after fighting the good fight as best I could on two hours sleep, and losing pathetically, I gave up, raised a white flag, and let MP watch cartoons. I went back to bed. I overslept. I managed to pry my eyes open at 8:30, at which point I shot out of bed and emerged from my room in a panic, making a beeline for the shower.
Five minutes later, I’m lathering, I’m rinsing, and I hear a tiny, high pitched series of whimpers most definitely meant to get my attention. I peek from around the curtain and see MP sitting on the bathroom floor, in tears.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“You just walked right past me, and I didn’t even get a HUG.”
(Pouty, arms folded)
“I shouldn’t have to TELL you to give me a hug.”
(Higher pitch. Definitely louder.)
“You should just KNOW I need one!”
She’s such a chick.