Wito woke up yelling “Hungwey, hungwey, HUNGWEY!” at 5:12 this morning. Now, the hungry part wasn’t so weird, given I currently own the title of Mother To Gigantor, but the 5:12am part was less than desirable for reasons I’m sure I don’t have to explain here.
I let him roll around for about 45 minutes while he yelled phrases such as, “I burped, mommy! EXCUSE ME.” and “Fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three, milk time!” (Seriously, people. He’s a counting savant. Also? When we’re driving in the car and listening to music? He names THE INSTRUMENTS that are being played in the song. How in the hell does he know the difference between a guitar, piano, trumpet and violin? OH, ENLIGHTEN ME.)
(Sorry. I just had to get that out there.)
Finally, when I decided to embrace the early wake-up call and drudge my sorry ass out of bed, I carried Wito into the kitchen and asked him what he wanted to eat. We pretty much have a standard high class breakfast menu at Casa Whoorl, which consists of Eggo waffles (Um, Nutrigrain because I, like, really KER about health), yogurt, milk and/or cheerios.
I looked at Wito and asked what he wanted.
“Sweetie, what do you want?”
“I wan cheekey nunnets and faffel fwies.”
“I WAN CHEEKEY NUNNETS AND FAFFEL FWY.”
“Um, you want chicken nuggets and waffle fries? Right now?” (6:18am, to be exact.)
I stood there, looking at him and thinking of the two times in his life that we have fed him fast food. (Chick-fil-A, of course! I mean, is that REALLY fast food?)
And honestly? I did a little happy dance because OH MY GOD, I GET TO EAT CHICK-FIL-A FOR DINNER. HELL YES.
I’m off to San Francisco tomorrow morning to attend Blogher. Hope to see you there!