The chap I married is not a morning person. He takes exception every morning to having a five year old creeping into his room between five and seven and asking in a booming voice,
“Is it waking up time yet?”
He typically does a strong impression of a corpse at this point in order to not have to deal with said child. I can physically feel his body freeze into rigor mortis as the door handle starts to turn.
Now I have found ways to exact my revenge for his early morning reluctance to participate in family life. Once BB is up (around six) and firmly attached to my body nothing pleases me more to hear twin boy pad across the landing and five minutes later call,
“Can somebody wipe my bottom, its sloppy.”
I give he who helped create them an almighty prod of life and we go through the dramatic routine of him returning to the land of living and I humour him for a while whilst he pretends he doesn’t know why I have retrieved him from the pearly gates. Luckily I don’t need to explain much as twin boy’s repetitive chants from the bathroom tend to tell the back story.
But still no matter how much pleasure getting he who helped create them to go on arse wiping duty first thing gives me; it still means he starts the day with an upside down smile which tends to remain until at least three of us have left the marital home.
However this morning was a whole new story. He who helped create them has literally bounced into action.
We had a lie in….
We woke up first…
We slept until the grand time of 7.21.
And now I am living with the male equivalent of Mary feckin Poppins. I have tea in bed, he has played with the twins, he has thrown the baby in the air, he has laughed and joked as if we were in pre children days.
He is getting on my nerves…