They teem with energy and I wish for quiet. To be left.
I wish for the bickering, for God's sakes! to end!
An empty tummy sloshing with coffee leaves me agitated.
They ask for some Christmas chocolate and though it's before 9 am I sigh and hand it over with guilt and wonder,
Am I the only Mother that gives in so easily in tired defeat? To stop the whining?
Once it's gone. It's gone.
Once it is gone. It is gone.
This reverberates in my mind and I gnaw at the meaning.
It drifts and I'm left with a sense of doubt.
Always the doubt.
They've had their breakfast after all.
They used their manners so I must be doing something right. Right?
And they always share treats with their Mumma.
Sometimes I don't even have to ask.
Besides. I could use a bit of sweetness right now.
My littlest approaches me with his 3 year old cherubic face inches from mine and his funny questions,
"Mummy 'mell my bweff?"
And I do. Of-course I do. Because Mothers? We do all kinds of weird and gross things for our children.
I sniff into his mouth.
A mix of morning bweff and chocolate.
I pull him close.