...one sip left

 Mornings-with-toddler are hard to define outside of weather pattern terms.
Maelstrom
Tornado
Squall

Henri's approach to being awoken is much like that of a wild animal startled awake.

There's the immediate attack of flailing limbs, ferocious sounds and gnashing teeth...

followed by the retreat into fetal position...

and a half-hour or so of hangry, breakfast-acquiring rage...

before he settles back down into darling mode and is ready for a good curl up and cuddle session.

While the storm-of-the-morning rages about, I'm more single-minded of purpose.  Shaking off the cobwebs and carefully (middle age has surely set in with its daily assessments of what hurts now) stretching out the tangle that co-sleeping has made of my limbs...before embarking on the caffeine crawl.

There was a time...some three-plus years ago now (coincidentally, just about as long as Henri's been earthside!) when I was an up-and-at-em kind of a gal.  Up before both sunrise and son-rise to get the coffee brewing, table set, three-course breakfast whipped up.

Co-sleeping, and extended nursing, has bested me.

Sleep comes in half-hour drifts...few and far between.

And I rise, grimly and grumpily, amidst the tiny terror's yowls and roars, to lumber into the kitchen for my lifeline...one mug of the good stuff.

One mug.

One cup.

My allowance...

my allowed caffeine consumption, as Henri staunchly refuses to even consider the idea of weaning.

Yawn.

The storm rages on.  Alternately kicking up and dying down as brother and Papa tiptoe about, trying to avoid being caught in the eye.

The morning is theirs.

I've decreed it.

I take to the kitchen table, with phone and computer...my office space...for the duration of one, singular cup of coffee.  One scalding sip setting the stage for a flurry...a frenzy...of activity as fingers fly across the keyboard and I settle accounts, whip up responses, source quotes and statistics and case numbers and district policies.

Emails sent, I pause for a sip.

Dive into the text stream.

Sip...reply...sip...delete...

A moment to stare at the bank balance...*blink blink*...still zeroes...

Gulp.

Sip again...dive back in...

Calendar updated.  Books logged.

Windows opened...a dizzying array of tabs for to-dos.

Sip.

And...pause...

One final sip left.

I stop.

The coffee...barely a tablespoon left...gone cold and grainy.

The household, I realize, has settled down to a dull roar.

Papa's left for the day.  Little one and big one are tangled on the sofa in front of the television...breakfast half-eaten...the rest decorating faces and furniture in equal part. 

The cat has fled for her next 4-hour nap.

The kitchen is in shambles.

The living room a flood-zone.

The storm has run its course.

I've one sip left, and the freedom it affords.  

The table...my "office".

This mug...my "closed door policy".

One little sip and my half-hour of self-imposed solitary runs out.

One little sip...barely that...and "I" become "Mami" for the next 23.5 hours...

I want...somewhere deep down and rebellious...to push the mug away...to set it back and settle back, and see how long I might be able to stretch out these moments before the mantle of responsibility is super-glued back on to my aching shoulders.

I want to just wait...sit back in my chair and close my eyes and drift...

But there's the commercial jingle...the closing bell...my time is up...

One final, desperate gulp I don't even taste...

and the storm-chaser is back on the clock.