The Luckiest

All the omens pointed to a bad morning. Max, who had installed himself in our bed around two a.m., woke up around seven and was immediately angry at me for nursing Maggie. He slid out of bed and went to find Ian, while I stayed in bed, continued to nurse Maggie, and made a mental note to research child-friendly tranquilizer darts on the Internet later. Ian came into the bedroom and informed me that Max needed some diaperly attention. Max walked in and jumped on me, his odor confirming Ian's claims. I detached Maggie and got up. When I removed Max's diaper, he said, "Gross!" with quite unnecessary amounts of cheer. Ian laughed way more than is advisable for a man who does not wish to find poopy diapers under his pillow tonight.
Max ate breakfast, smearing oatmeal on most of North America in the process, while Maggie kicked her covers off and then woke up mad because she was cold. Ian declined my suggestion to take one or both children with him to work. Max pooped again after Ian's departure, creating a palpable smell that left the neighbors on all sides wondering whether their combined complaints would be enough to get us evicted. Not to be outdone, Maggie pooped while I was still elbow-deep in Max feces, soiling her diaper, her clothes, her activity blanket, the floor, and my remaining good will. I cleaned and clothed everyone and then we all evacuated outside. We watched the rain and played in the sandbox while the apartment air slowly cleared. Max gave Maggie some sand and they both laughed. "Max helping, Mama", Max informed me. "Love you, Mama. Love you, Max. Thank you, Max. Sky crying? Kiss Maggie", he added, directing a European-style air-kiss in Maggie's general direction. They're mine, I thought with amazement. I get to be their mom. How on earth did I get so lucky? And just like that, it was the best morning ever.