It was a random Monday morning. The worst blinds ever bought by anyone in the world hadn’t by some miracle lost their grip in the night and whooshed up, so the room was still in complete darkness. The alarm went off, buzz, buzz, buzz and Mum conducted her morning ritual of kicking Dad in whatever body part was closest to turn the thing off. No one moved and silence resumed. The little one had ended up upside down in Mum and Dad’s bed at some point during the night, as usual this was at the point when Mum become desperate for some form of sleep. The kid stirred and rolled over, Mum held her breath and made a silent pray to the god of baby sleep, the kid carried on snoozing and Mum let out a slow shaky breath. Mum took a moment to wonder whether there really was a god of baby sleep and if so, what was he called and did he really hate her? Mum decided it would definitely be a man, no woman would curse her on the sleep shit like this.
The clock ticked on and Mum started to worry all the kids had slipped into a deep coma. She contemplated trying to slip out of the bed to go and poke them a bit, just to make sure they were still breathing. Then Mum thought better of it, plus she couldn’t physically move with the little one lying across her face. 8 am came and went and Mum told herself in a reassuring inner voice that the kids were all asleep. Obviously, this meant Mum was wide awake but that was what you call ‘sod’s law’, c’est la vie. The little one shifted a bit then went back to sleep, horizontal and straddling Mum’s neck, subsequently cutting off most of her air supply but she wasn’t complaining. It was 8.17 am, she was still in bed, albeit not asleep, it had been a long while since this had happened.
All of a sudden the hall lights flickered on and the whispers started. Mum heard the girl sternly telling the first born to be quiet. The big ones then proceeded to tip toe around, whispering; “Alexa, what’s the weather like today?”, “Alexa, what day is it?”, “Alexa, can I stay up tonight for a film night?”. The sort of stuff any child would ask their tiny robot substitute parent.
Mum started to wonder what the hell was going on. Was this all a dream, was she actually really asleep and having a real dream? And if so, why on earth was she dreaming about the kids whispering in the hall? Surely Mum’s dreams should feature Guy Martin or Sam Rockwell, or both? Mum then started to rack her brain, desperately trying to remember all the food she gave the kids yesterday, then realised it was basically everything in the fridge. Was it really possible she could actually recreate this moment for the rest of her life?
The little one started to shuffle some more as the clock reached the big 8.30 am. Someone flushed the toilet and the kid sat up so fast anyone would think someone just opened a packet of crisps within the 3 mile radius surrounding the house. But it’s OK, 8.30 am may as well be 11 am in the world of having kids so Mum would take this one as a win. Mum heard the girl whisper shout at the first born to “shhhhhh” and concludes it must have been him flushing the toilet. You know, that thing he doesn’t ever do during the day. The little one started to make his famous his ‘eh, eh, eh’ noises, signaling to his siblings that he’s awake and they can now start to shout, scream and kill each other.
Meanwhile, Mum is in such a state of pure shock at being in bed at 8.30 am she is even smiling when she slowly peals herself from it, kicks Dad out and makes the thing. She tells the big ones it’s OK to make (some) noise and doesn’t even try to stop the little one when the kid proceeds to throw each of her perfume bottles down the stairs, or even when he tries to plug the hairdryer into her forehead.
Mum stands, looks around slowly and wonders whether she’s entered the twilight zone. She quietly sighs, secretly wishing for a repeat of the best morning of her life but residing herself to the fact that it will likely never happen again. EVER.
