Mornings can be kind of rough in our house. None of us are morning people. We would all sleep in if we had the choice. This includes Cole, who has been known to sleep until 9:30 on the weekends. (I’m not kidding. He did it on Saturday.) And not only are we not morning people, but we are also habitually late people. This is a bad combination.
This is our typical morning. The alarm goes off around 5:30, and Kevin asks me to turn it off. Which I do. Several times. Until he gets up around 6. Or a little after. Whenever I give up on turning off the alarm. Then Kevin gets in the shower while I continue to sleep. Or at least try to fall back to sleep after hitting the snooze button for half an hour. When he gets out, I get in, and he wakes up Cole. If he wakes up on his own, my son is pretty pleasant. He will just lie in his crib and wait for us or sometimes, he will call our names. But he isn’t a big fan of being woken up. He may cry, he may snuggle his head into you, but what he definitely doesn’t do is open his eyes. He likes to mimic a blind person for at least the first 5 minutes, feeling around for his cup, but not looking at anyone. After a few minutes of being awake, he returns to his happy self.
Now I try to do as much I can the night before to prep us for the morning. I clean up, make lunches, and lay out clothes. But no matter what I do, I cannot get us out of the house on time. When Kevin takes Cole, things are a little better for me, and I can usually get to work no more than 15 minutes late. (I know it’s not a real accomplishment, but it’s something.) But when I have morning drop-off, it’s a battle. Cole never wants to put on his jacket or shoes. Or he wants more milk. Or marshmallows (breakfast of champions). Then when I try to get him out the door, he either stands still, runs away, or throws himself on the ground. Today, I think he did all 3.
I try to be patient. I really do. But some days, it is just really hard. Today was one of those days. I negotiated. I pleaded. I yelled. I picked up my 2 year old and carried him down the stairs when he took too long. I dropped him at day care and ran out of there to get to work. And then I got in the car and cried. I cried because I’m pregnant and emotional and hormonal. But also because I snapped at my son who is the most wonderful kid in the world (in my world anyway), and he doesn’t understand why Mommy sometimes yells. And stomps her feet. Yes, sometimes I actually stomp my feet. Today, I got a call at just the right time from a friend who let me vent. Tomorrow, I’ll just have to put on my big girl pants and suck it up.
