Good morning, sunshine!!

Little man has rough mornings most of the time. He pretty much always wakes up grumpy, much like his mom and dad. Luckily, however, for me at least, he normally sleeps until 7:30 or 7:45 which gives me enough time to get everything ready before him. Let's just say that I got to work on time a lot more often before he was mobile.

This morning I woke up feeling great, so I was running around getting some housework done. I went to the laundry room, which is always a little dangerous when Izzy's sleeping, due to it's close proximity to the nursery. I take out the dry load of baby clothes, and I start putting in the towels to dry. That's when I hear a little cry. I throw in the rest of the towels, start the dryer, and the wailing begins. "Honey bunch, don't cry," I yell in the direction of his room. "Give momma just another minute." I throw in the darks, and I run and wash my hands, and head to the nursery. No more than two or three minutes have passed since that first plaintive cry, but Izzy's given up hope anyways.

He's sobbing. I pick him up, patting him on his little bottom, and I tell him it's okay, I didn't really abandon him. Poor little guy is so torn up that I sit down with him for a few minutes in the rocking recliner in his room. He lets out a couple of more sobs, which break my heart, then he snuggles up tight against me, with tears running down his face. I don't know why he is always so upset when he wakes up. He has never woke up and played in his crib by himself. He always wakes up crying and crying.

Gammie ran in and licked him, and that always cracks him up, so I asked him if he wanted some blueberries. He shook his head yes, then scooted off my lap into the floor, where he crawled frantically to the door towards the kitchen. Then he broke down again and the wailing recommenced. I run to the kitchen, grab a clean sippy, put in a little milk and pop it in the microwave.

I then grab a paper towel and fill it up with blueberries, add a little cold milk to the too-warm milk from the microwave, and then I run, literally run, these things down the hall to my bedroom, where I keep a highchair now. This way Izzy can eat while mommy gets ready, and I don't have to chase him everywhere.

I sprint back up the hallway where Izzy has sprawled out, face-down, in complete despair. We go back to the bedroom and when he sees the blueberries, he's ok again. That boy LOVES blueberries. He was fine the rest of the morning. He was even able to help me with the housework by throwing my socks out of the chest of drawers and all over the bedroom. What a little trooper.