Toddler Mom Explained in One Story

Weekends is when our family has one full day together. Sunday. 

My husband and toddler son sleep in and I wake early for quiet time-I'm literally in that scenario right now as I write. 

My mornings start the same every day. 

I wake with sunrise or before, quietly and groggily find my way to the kitchen and start our coffee pot. Penny, our 12 year old white Labrador retriever, trails behind me as I send her out into the yard to relieve herself while I replenish her food and water. 

By the time she's ready to re-enter the house, my first cup of coffee is ready and I am stirring in liquid Stevia with creamer. 

Last weekend, when it was just about the time I knew my husband and son would be rising, I cooked some cornbread muffins for breakfast. I use melted coconut oil to coat the bottom of the muffin tin, the muffins don't stick- and the flavor is divine. 

By the time the delectables were sending blissful coconut-ee, cinnamon-ee, wafts of baked fragrance through the house, my toddler and husband were stirring and waking.

Penny was satiated, my second cup of coffee poured; journaling, meditating, goal writing completed. Bubba, our toddler made his way to the kitchen. 

His cocoa colored bed tousled hair, rubbing chocolate brown eyes swollen with sleep. He lumbered into my arms wearing Paw Patrol pajamas for a morning hug and kiss. 

Balancing him on my left hip, I plucked a cornbread muffin from the tin and grabbed a plastic plate. A few cubes of cheddar cheese and a banana rounded out his breakfast as I carried him and the plate to the table. He sat easily and grabbed the warm cornbread taking one bite. 

Watching him enjoy that first bite, I felt a sense of accomplishment. Mom score = 1. Healthy breakfast, home cooked fresh and warm. 

Bubba looked up at me and smiled with crumbs falling down his chin and onto the floor. Penny sat patiently next to the table, feigning innocence. 

In the blink of an eye, Bubba had tossed the baked good to her, she caught it mid air and finished it in one gulp. 

I gasped in surprise. 

"BUBBA!" I exclaimed. 

He beamed a smile. Pleased with himself.

"More pweez." he pointed to the other muffins. 

Sighing, I replaced his cornbread with another. Evil-eyeing Penny as I went, my mug of Joe grabbed on the way. Penny looked back at me with Doe eyes. 

Handing Bubba the muffin I stated "Bubba, that's Bubba's food. Eat your food." 

"Otay." he answered taking a big bite of crumbly goodness. I leaned to grab paper towels for the mess that was being made, and didn't even have my back fully turned by the time Bubba had thrown his second muffin to the dog.

Catch, gulp.

"BUBBA!" I exasperated. 

"More pweez." His two year old tender request and pure voice. 

"No. Eat your banana." My "kind morning baking Mama" had been replaced by the stern "enough is enough" Mother- the one who uses first and middle names. My free hand on my hip as I sipped my now "needed like an IV" coffee. 

Full toddler melt down. Tears rolling down Bubba's face, mouth open like a fish as cornbread speckled drool poured onto his pajama shirt, snot bubbling out his nose like the head of a turtle with every in and outtake of breath. 

Drama. 

I stood callously. No sympathy from me. 

Dad enters. 

"What happened?" Junior asked, stunned- perplexed. Seeing me stand with no inclination to comfort Bubba, was a clear hint that the crying fit wasn't a serious injury. 

In clipped tones, I explained the situation as Junior gave me a quick kiss good morning. 

"Mmm. Cornbread?" was his response to my story and he grabbed all but the last muffin from the pan and began lathering them in peanut butter. 

At some moment, we noticed Bubba had stopped crying. He quietly ate his cheese and banana next to Dad as we chatted about the upcoming day. 

Crisis averted. Morning saved, peace regained. Penny curled up under the table, dozing. 

I had just finished dousing the last muffin with butter and had taken the creamy, grainy, delicious bite of it when I felt a tiny hand pulling on my sweatpants. 

"Ma?" Bubba looked up to me, his sweet tender face imploring me as if to say "Are we good? Are you still upset?" and my heart melted the way my butter just had. 

Scooping him up into my arms I held him close. His two year old body wrapped in my embrace and kissed him three times on his chubby cheek. "Mama loves Bubba." I assured him. His face nuzzling into my collarbone, his short arms holding me, not quite reaching around my shoulders. 

Lifting his head he put his forehead against mine, in the haze of love I felt, I was vaguely aware of just how snotty his nose was, also my shirt now and how at risk my face was from the goo at close proximity. 

The Hershey brown beauty of his eyes shining I looked deep into them as we both smiled. 

"More." he said. Pointing to the last muffin, my muffin. The one I had saved for myself. 

I hesitated for a micro second, then complied. 

Handing him the golden morsel. 

He didn't even take a bite this time. 

The sound of the muffin hitting the tile floor had Penny rocketing out from beneath the dining table and she was licking the remnants of crumbs up at my feet before I could even exclaim in shock. 

Bubba laughed. 

I stood still, unmoving. A blank look on my face.

Without a word, I set Bubba on the floor next to his dad and went outside onto the patio to finish my cup of coffee, shutting the door behind me. 

I partnered with other women to tell their stories of motherhood, the stories that aren't shared with badges and ribbons, in a book titled Unspoken Motherhood. Stories of PostPartum, Miscarriage, Child loss, adoption, and more. 

See it here:

Unspoken Motherhood