When Grady wakes up in the morning, I groan and then pull my breast out of my shirt (if it’s not already hanging out for him to take at his leisure), then close my eyes to squeeze as much more time in bed as I possibly can.
Those mornings wherein Madilyn comes crawling into my bed at 7:15, I tell her to lie down and I roll over to cuddle her and tell her to go back to sleep. That works for all of 5 seconds before she’s squirming all over the place demanding cereal.
I generally tell her to go pee and that I’ll be right there.
I stay in bed.
She comes back into my room demanding cereal.
I tell her that I’ll be right there, to go get me a bowl.
I stay in bed.
She comes back in with her hands on her hips and a stern look on her face, saying, “MOMMY! CEREAL NOW!”
That, my friends, is my cue to finally drag my big butt out of bed.
I pick Grady up and crawl out of bed, stepping gingerly on my plantar fasciitis-ridden feet. I slip on my sneakers and hit the floor running.
Since waking up this morning, I have prepared breakfast for Madilyn, sent Styles off to school, made the bed, cleaned Madilyn’s entire bowl of cereal up off of the table, texted my friends to find out if today’s plans are still in the works, made a pot of coffee, folded and put away a load of laundry, prepared breakfast for Grady, fed breakfast to Grady, cleaned banana out of Grady’s hair, changed a poopy diaper, started another load of laundry, poured myself a cup of coffee, left said coffee on the counter to attend to the kitchen floor, and considered the rest of the things that I need to accomplish before 11am which includes but is not limited to: vacuuming, dusting, sweeping, and mopping. And somewhere in there, I need to take a shower, wash & straighten my hair, and at the very least brush some mascara on my eerily blonde lashes.
That’s all before noon, people!
Throw into the mix diaper changes, cleaning messes, breaking up fights, and breathing; and there you have the very reason that I linger in bed in the morning.
I sat down to write this blog with the guise of enjoying my coffee. Yet next to me sits a lukewarm mug of coffee and coconut milk, while on my lap rests my laptop and my 30lb 2 year old, with my 10 month old hanging onto my leg pretending it’s a barre while he practices pliés.
So much for that steaming-hot cup of coffee!
Don’t judge me for staying in bed for a few more minutes than perhaps I should every morning. I know that as soon as my feet hit the floor, I’ll be off and running until midnight after I’m done cleaning up from dinner and ironing The Workaholic’s clothes.
Now excuse me while I go relieve my bladder for the first time today.