Eggs sizzle on the skillet in front of me.
The smell of bacon fills the air.
A pile of freshly made blueberry pancakes sit just off to the side, ready to be devoured when you finally get out of bed.
I smile to myself as I hear the patter of your feet behind me. The awkward rhythm of your steps tells almost as much of a story as the tell-tale crinkling that accompanied it.
I don't turn to face you, just leaning back into your touch as you wrap your arms around my waist and bury your face into my back.
"Morning, little one," I coo, turning to see your eyes peeking up at me from under your messy bed head, "Did my baby sleep well?"
You grumble something wordlessly behind your paci, rub your sleepy eyes, and whimper a little, before looking down at the diaper sagging heavily below the hem of the oversized shirt you wore to bed.
I shake my head and chuckle, giving you a peck on the shield of your binkie before speaking.
"Oh, does someone want a change?"
You respond with a hopeful look and nod of your head.
"Oh, sweetie, no changies before breakfast. You know that! Why waist a didi when we both know that your pants will be more full than your tummy by the end of your meal?"
You let out a dissatisfied grunt.
I smack the soggy padding covering your ass.
Who knew an adult could look so adorable dressed like an overgrown toddler?
"Now, go find your seat, sog monster! Breakfast's almost done, and I made your favorite! Pancakes!"
Your eyes light up at that, and you toddle off quickly to the table.
I turn back to the eggs, grinning as I slide them onto our two plates.
Today was going to be a good day.
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