I woke up this morning feeling a bit better than I had all day yesterday–needing to pee badly, of course, but not feverish. I realized I smelled something nasty, though. I tentatively sniffed myself, grateful that it wasn’t my BO. Was it M? As I rolled over to discover if he was the source of the disgusting odor, I recognized what it was. It was my own morning breath, that I got to taste as well as smell. It was seriously the morning breath from Hell. I could slay demons with it. Since getting up, I have eaten breakfast, chewed a piece of minty gum, and brushed my teeth–and I can still taste the nastiness. I hope whatever died in my mouth last night decides to crawl out soon because I don’t know how much longer I can put up with this. What a way to start the morning!
Things quickly got better from there, though. When I was washing my hands after the obligatory morning pee, I squinted at something brightly colored on the bathroom counter that hadn’t been there last night (I don’t put my glasses on until I’m sure I’m up for the day, so I was still blind at this point). I pick it up and squint at it when it’s an inch from my eyes and realize the writing on the front says, “My Love,” in M’s handwriting. I grinned, remembering how we joked about how he of all people wouldn’t be able to pull off a surprise Mother’s Day card for me when he returned from grocery shopping the other day with cards for both our moms. Somehow he managed to anyway.
I read the funny card and sweet thoughts he added at the bottom (while squinting at the card an inch from my face) and then crawled back into bed and snuggled up to him. It no longer mattered that I had the Morning Breath from Hell, or that I was still a bit nauseous, or that PJ was awake and chattering loudly for his breakfast from the next room. It was suddenly the most important thing in the world to let my husband know that he was appreciated, even though I knew my only gift all day would be that simple card.
Eventually we both got up at the same time–unusual on the weekends–so that M could fix PJ’s breakfast while I changed the sopping wet diaper (literally). When I opened the door to his room, PJ greeted me with a big hug, his new morning routine. If that isn’t the best way to top off an already sweet Mother’s Day morning, I don’t know what is. It makes it a little easier to change the wet diapers and chase the toddler all over the house when you know you’re appreciated for that work.
Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers out there–and the future mothers, and the mothers who have no kids but should be recognized anyway for all the work they do in caring for the house and their childlike husbands and numerous pets.