Attempting to eat breakfast while simultaneously keeping Aven's hands out of my cereal bowl and trying to entertain her.Some mornings are easier than others. The ones I prefer go like this: I wake up at 5:20, get ready, and eat breakfast all while Aven stays in dreamland. I wake Aven up around 6:15, dress her, and nurse her and then head off to daycare/ work.
Mornings that don't go so smoothly start with Aven waking up wanting to nurse at 5 a.m. and then not going back to sleep (isn't it time to play, Mom?). Everything usually goes okay until Ian leaves for work at 6:10 (forty minutes before I leave). Forty minutes can be a long and difficult journey with a baby who woke up too early and is growing fussier by the minute. She doesn't want to play in her jumper, eat a cookie, or be put on the floor with toys so I am forced to improvise. While I try to get a few bites of breakfast I set her on the table and put on i-tunes visualizer which captivates her for about 2 minutes before she starts complaining again. I put on her favorite song (Viva La Gloria by Green Day) and sing along while I try to get my lunch packed, shoes on, and all the stuff I take with me every day ready to go. And trust me when I say that I get everything ready, that I possibly can, before going to bed each night. It often feels like I am doing some sort of hysterical, ridiculous dance (similar to the one Elaine did on Seinfeld) that I just can't quite get control of.
I understand that millions of people go through something similar every day, but it is definitely not for the faint of heart. I maintain that being a mother is an extreme sport.
Mornings that don't go so smoothly start with Aven waking up wanting to nurse at 5 a.m. and then not going back to sleep (isn't it time to play, Mom?). Everything usually goes okay until Ian leaves for work at 6:10 (forty minutes before I leave). Forty minutes can be a long and difficult journey with a baby who woke up too early and is growing fussier by the minute. She doesn't want to play in her jumper, eat a cookie, or be put on the floor with toys so I am forced to improvise. While I try to get a few bites of breakfast I set her on the table and put on i-tunes visualizer which captivates her for about 2 minutes before she starts complaining again. I put on her favorite song (Viva La Gloria by Green Day) and sing along while I try to get my lunch packed, shoes on, and all the stuff I take with me every day ready to go. And trust me when I say that I get everything ready, that I possibly can, before going to bed each night. It often feels like I am doing some sort of hysterical, ridiculous dance (similar to the one Elaine did on Seinfeld) that I just can't quite get control of.
I understand that millions of people go through something similar every day, but it is definitely not for the faint of heart. I maintain that being a mother is an extreme sport.
I think you hit it perfectly. Being a mom is definitely an extreme sport!
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