Working and Raising Kids…One Last Nerve at a Time

It’s one of those mornings. Why have an alarm clock when there are children in the house? My six month old decided that 5:30am is the perfect wake up call; he’s raring to go so why aren’t I? Of course him being up this early throws my entire morning routine off. I normally try to be up, dressed and ready to go before my kids. Most of the time this works, not so much today. Coupled with the fact that I dared to take a vacation day yesterday to stretch out the holiday weekend, I am dreading opening my work e-mail. In fact I look at it through my fingers, like you do when watching a horror movie. By 7am, the baby had a melt down, I had a melt down (with crying) and my husband was eying the front door, planning his escape. How sad when he’d prefer to battle traffic in the rain then stay around a few more minutes and watch me dissolve into a puddle on the floor.

Oh yeah and we’re out of milk and diapers. No doubt my preschooler will wake and demand milk with his cereal. (He’s so unreasonable) Husband volunteers to run out, only to find the grocery store at the end of our street without power, so he has to try another. Are you kidding me?

I get into the shower since my day is packed with client meetings and washed hair is appropriate and I pull the baby in there too to sit in his bouncy seat. Nothing kills a relaxing shower like peeking out of the shower doors to sing a few verses of Wheels on the Bus so that the baby won’t cry. God forbid a I should get five seconds to shave my legs in peace. By the time I have made myself presentable (the bags under my eyes are a fact of life that I am slowly accepting) #1 son is up, and thankfully dressed. But the demands begin. “Mom I want milk,” “mom I want breakfast,” “mom, mom, mom…” By now I am ready to pull my hair out and run screaming from the house. I am so exhausted I feel hungover, without the alcohol to prove it.

As I go to load the morning dishes in the dishwasher I discover it was run last night, oh JOY how I love emptying the dishwasher, it seems like that is all I ever do. Oh yeah and wipe butts. In my childhood fantasies of being a grown up, these mundane tasks never factored into my dreams. The morning is capped off by me spilling thawed breast milk onto the counter. I let out a string of expletives (I know I shouldn’t curse in front of the kids, but this warrants it) clean up the mess and start gulping my 2nd mug of coffee. I don’t think it’s going to help today. And now I feel badly because I told my four year to get away from my toast, can I not have one thing to myself around here? I guarantee that if I made him his own, he’s look at it with disgust and refuse to eat it. And he already ate breakfast. When I am tired and hungry, my maturity level is that of a 2 year old. So there.


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