I wake and bring my daughter into bed with me. We watch the news for a while. She snuggles up on my growing belly and runs her fingers through my blanket.
My son wakes and cries and we go to get him out of bed, to change his diaper. He takes the diaper like a treasure and carries it to the trash can, stepping on the foot to open it and cast the diaper in, like ashes into the sea.
We eat breakfast. Milk and cinnamon/raisin bagels, and orange juice for me. They have stopped eating bananas for now. Tired of them, I guess. It was so easy, I am sad and confused at what to feed them now.
After breakfast they run around the house picking things up and throwing them down, carrying toys from one room to the next, crying over the same empty macaroni box. I don't know what to do with them so I decide to let them figure it out on their own until someone gets hurt.
I fold the nightly wash of diapers and assemble them in a basket. I do this 4 or 5 times because the kids like to pull them all out after they are folded and put the basket on their heads.
Later we go to the grocery store. I buy chips and cookies and pre-made meatballs and vegetable protein sausages. Junk food for me and convenience food for the kids, with a smattering of "healthy", just for show? I don't know. I have to forgive myself these little indiscretions.
We return home for naps, and because the day is dreary, tv in the late afternoon while I start a dinner and wash the floors, and sing songs with the kids, and teach them how to hop like kangaroos.
In between I've thought of a million art projects and several house things I would like to do, but there just isn't time. By night I am too tired to do them and I fall into bed and sleep fitfully while the baby squirms in my belly.
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