It’s 8:15 and every bone and emotional neuron is saying “Go back to sleep” but my intellect won’t switch off and it doesn’t happen. I tell my husband I am going downstairs for breakfast in peace.
He says “Is Pablo up?”
“Nope.”
“Espera y vamos todos juntos.”
I shrug. I am a slave to my child’s vibe and agree halfheartedly. Soon, he wakes up a little bit more of a hot mess than normal, so I throw him in the rain shower with my husband for 2 seconds. Initially, he freaks out but when I open the door to grab him and wrap him in a towel, he says “Mas! Más!” Wanting to stay in the water longer. Still, I know this drill and get him, because I know the dressing will take awhile. He basks in the piles of pillows, blankets and sheets on the hotel bed and frolicks around with splendid delight. Finally, I pin him down for diaper and fresh clothes. Between pPablo and my husband’s pacing, my hunger is skyrocketing. Eventually, about 40 minutes later we go down to breakfast.
Wise mamma can make wanted suggestions before Pablo even know what he wants.
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