If you're thinking of having children...

I should write a book. I'll call it "If you're thinking of having children...", and the first chapter will be a description of a typical morning in my household. With emphasis on the typical part-- as in nothing unusual, out of the ordinary, or particularly comment-worthy. Only that it is... or would have been in the pre-offprsing era.


3am: Baby wakes up. Sadly, the fact that this hasn't occurred earlier in the night (morning?) is a cause for jubilant celebration these days.


4:45am: Hear rustling in Elle's room. Go investigate. Find lights on, 3-year-old in bathroom singing to herself and... wait for it... painting her nails. Only her definition of "nails" obviously has expanded to include her hand, arm, pajamas, the sink, multiple towels, and-- despite all conceivable laws of physics-- the ceiling. Ask child what on earth she is doing. Start to scold. Child responds, "I needed a manicure". Laugh instead. Clean purple nail polish from all of the aforementioned places. Scold self for thinking nail polish could be safely stored in child's bathroom drawer. Wish momentarily I had thought to capture the moment photographically. Remember that it is Four. In. The. Morning.


5:45am: Re-re-wake up. Pump milk. Shower and start getting ready, omitting unnecessary steps such as proper attention to hair, makeup, and wardrobe.


6:15am: The manicurist wakes up and informs me as per usual that I am not to come into her room as she will be dressing herself and will "surprise me". Hope for the best.


6:25: Choose not to comment/veto Elle's choice of horrifically non-matching clothes/socks. Don't poke the skunk.


6:30: Preside over breakfast. Agree to let Elle choose her oatmeal muffin.
6:45: Reassure the muffin-chooser that after tortuous laborious analysis that she did, in fact, select the largest one.


6:50am: Hunt for The. Only. Pair. Of. Shoes. That. Will. Do.


6:55am: Wake up baby who clearly thinks time-to-leave-for-work is much more appropriate for sleeping than 3am (see above).
6:57: Feed baby. Pretend not to notice spitup/drool/Prevacid stain on left shoulder.

7:05am: Convince Elle she does not need a Second Breakfast.
7:06: Load car with kids, bottles, work stuff, the second largest muffin, and gifts for Teacher Appreciation Week.
7:06:15: Explain to Elle that she is not a teacher and thus may not claim any of the designated Teacher gifts.

7:07am: Push button on coffee machine. Almost have to donate to the Swear Jar when it refuses to cooperate and says, "Fill water tank". Fill water tank. Push button again. Come closer to owing Swear Jar when it says "Empty grounds". Empty grounds. Push button in a threateningly violent fashion. Consider IV source of caffeine.

7:08am: Take hard-earned cup of coffee to car.
7:09: Olfactory neurons suggest that the littlest Golding has soiled her diaper. Consider pretending not to notice until we get to daycare. Discover that the "problem" has extended beyond the confines of the diaper to involve onesie, babylegs, socks, and car seat. Clean, change, clean. Wish for one day of not having to touch/clean someone else's feces.

7:15am: Depart house.
7:20am: Arrive at daycare. Redirect Elle 6,249 times between car and classroom.
7:30am: Deliver kids to respective teachers, who are Appreciated beyond belief. A few hundred requests for "one last hug" later, return to car and head to work. Wonder how I can possibly be running late.

Ready to start the day.