I had a morning the other day that left me feeling as though I absolutely kill it as a stay-at-home mom. My daughter woke up just shy of 6.30, making almost nine hours of straight sleep. She is pretty much four-months old, and if this is what her regression will look like, I say, “Yes, please.” I managed twenty minutes of exercise before the Warrior Queen requested her breakfast. Unfortunately, I fed her just as Little Man greeted his day. Thirty minutes of bottle time, left my son on the edge of his patience. I generally shower before retrieving him, but not this day.
The morning routine was all over the place. All the required tasks before our outing were completed with amazing efficiency, but in such a random order I felt like surely we would be late leaving the house. My son behaved himself with independent occupation for the duration of my tasks, and not one toy was launched into our kitchen sink that rivals Mr. Man’s dog stuffed animal that missed its calling as a Center for Disease Control sample. Usually when I have the capability to complete all of the mundane tasks that a toddler finds excruciatingly boring, there is a gift waiting for me in his diaper that I pretend isn’t there, so my immediate chores can be completed…or so I can use the restroom. But, with increasing frequency, my son will be wonderfully behaved without harboring a fugitive. Maybe the plethora of time-outs he’s earned over the past several months and the end of the nap stand-off finally allow me to reap some reward.
Even taking my shower with the almost two-and-a-half year old Little Man roaming the upstairs somewhat freely was reasonably uneventful. He only flushed the toilet once while I was scouring baby residue off my person, and helped me restore his entire bookcase of literature and toys he emptied onto the floor with marvelous efficiency.
But, my unicorn of a morning did not end there. I managed to feed Mr. Man freshly made eggs and toast and throw together a spur of the moment pasta salad from scratch. For those new to my work, food is extremely important to me, and knowing that I was flowing through my discombobulated morning without delaying incident, yet highly aware I missed my breakfast, motivated me to take along something a bit more tasty and substantial than my usual gallivanting feast assortment.
After each accomplishment around the house, I waited to be hailed upon by other shoes. The snoozing Warrior Queen was bound to awaken suddenly and spew the contents of an entire bottle, and provide an additional far reaching spray all over me just after I change her, right? Little Man would surely manage to open the bathroom door for the first time and dismantle the toilet I forgot to flush, right? I kept waiting for my luck to end, but it never did. I loaded all of us into the car, and we were off precisely when we needed to be. I even managed to purchase my favorite tea beverage, at a drive-through, of course. When we arrived at our magic play place without incident, I couldn’t believe the car accident I anticipated didn’t materialize.
But, as I changed Warrior Queen’s diaper with my son roaming the family style restroom; his still small, but growing hands plunging into the toilet water and his sister increasingly unhappy with her lady parts exposed, it occurred to me my miraculous morning wasn’t idyllic. Some might call it a rushed shit show. Upon further reflection, either I’ve adjusted to having two small blessed beings in my life to the point of ignoring the annoying mishaps that otherwise would prompt me to tear off my face, or my threshold for happiness is pathetically low.