That’s what my mornings feel like around here. Synchronized insanity. Chaos organized only by the fact that one of my children can’t move yet. Especially this morning.
A typical morning looks like this:
Emma is usually up to nurse around 4. I just pop a boob in her mouth and we go back to sleep.
Joshua wakes up and bangs on his bedroom door loud enough to wake the dead (or his sleeping sister) between 6:00 and 7:00. I get up and get him dressed and make coffee and he and I chill on the couch and watch Super Why or Dora or read a book and just chill out. Yesterday morning he made me Wii Bowl. Whatever. That’s our time together.
We hang out until we hear Emma stirring and then I’ll try to tank her up on one side, throw her (gently) into the car seat, and then we head to daycare drop off.
Lately, my mornings have looked like this:
Emma’s asleep, barely. Joshua’s running like a crazy person through the house with SO.MUCH.ENERGY he’s practically Chernobyl. I get him dressed, get myself dressed, hopefully have time to start the coffee, slather him in sunscreen like I’m supposed to and sometimes forget, and then Emma wakes up.
So I go get her and change her diaper and nurse her and burp her and put her in her car seat. And she poops. So I unbuckle her and go change her diaper. Joshua finds a ball and decides to throw it around the living room nearly breaking all the things instead of putting on his shoes. Just as I’m about to put Emma back in the car seat, she spits up all over all the other things, including my shirt and in my hair. I go change my clothes and throw my hair into a ponytail. She poops again while she’s sitting in the car seat and it’s such a loud poop I can hear her two rooms away. I pick her up to go and change her. She spits up on me. Again. Joshua is still refusing to put on his shoes. I go change the baby and my shirt. Again.
I put Emma in her car seat and sit down to put Joshua’s shoes on him since it’s clear he will not cooperate and do this himself. Then Joshua informs me that he has to make a stinky.
I irrationally ask him to wait and do it at school because then his teachers can change it and I’ve already changed two poop diapers this morning, maybe three depending on the day, and my poop diaper quota is nearly met. My logic is lost on him and he says, again, “I gotta make a stinky!” and runs down the hallway to hide in a bedroom to do his business. The toilet is not an option despite the Buzz Lightyear and Jessie toys calling his name from above the light fixture.
Emma is still in her car seat and growing increasingly frustrated that there isn’t a boob in her mouth.
Joshua and I head to his bedroom because by this point, he’s dropped a small man dump in his diaper and is ready to be changed. So I change it. By the time he and I have his shorts off, Emma is screaming from the living room. The Angry, Dying Cat scream that says that this moment, right here, this one I’m living, will be the reason she comes home wearing a miniskirt with her eyebrow pierced and her hair dyed 14 shades of blue one day.
Finally, all diapers are changed, my clothing is relatively bodily fluid free, both children are in the car, Emma is still screaming, but we’re on the way. A full 30 minutes after my original attempt at getting us out the door.
These kids are in cahoots to make me crazy(er.)