5:30 AM
Rise and shine! I set my alarm to wake up early, hoping for some precious quiet time before the chaos begins.
5:31 AM
I entertain the thought of brewing a hot drink to savor during my brief moments of solitude. I creep downstairs, determined.
5:31 AM
My toddler, with the uncanny awareness of a hawk, senses my stealth move. Even in the dim light, she’s aware of my every step.
5:32 AM
I freeze, half-hoping she’ll drift back into slumber.
5:33 AM
No such luck. “Mama! Wake up!” she chirps, displaying a surprising amount of energy given her late-night antics searching for her beloved pacifier. I worry that her enthusiasm might turn sour if I acknowledge it.
5:33 AM
I assist her with potty visits for the next little while, feeling a hint of guilt about the chilly toilet seat—thanks to my partner’s insistence on keeping the house Arctic-like at night.
5:34 AM
That slight guilt diminishes as her cheerful demeanor begins to dwindle, thwarted in her quest for endless hand-washing.
6:15 AM
Time to wake my older child, grateful for the one family member who rises with a smile. I remind myself to be kind; I need all the good karma I can get for his teenage years.
7:00 AM
I rush around, ensuring everyone else is fed, hydrated, and equipped for the day. Well, everyone except me. I do manage to brew my hot drink, because… priorities.
7:30 AM
I realize I forgot to schedule time for “Pull-Up-Character-Negotiations.”
7:35 AM
Just five minutes before the bus arrives, my older child remembers a crucial document that needs signing and payment, along with his library book, his helmet for rollerblading, and “Oh, can I bring cookies for my teacher’s birthday?”
7:40 AM
Channeling my inner supermom, I locate everything, sign the forms, and prepare him for a timely departure. With a little help from his dad, who may or may not have just rolled out of bed, he makes it to the bus in the nick of time.
7:45 AM
I explain to my toddler that Dad will take her to her babysitter today. She responds with a bright “Okay!” which tells me she doesn’t fully grasp the situation. I worry about the moment she does.
7:50 AM
Outside to warm up the car, I suddenly find myself locked out of the house. My toddler, in her eagerness to stay close, has twisted the doorknob, sealing me out while my partner is at the bus stop. This is really happening.
7:51 AM
I attempt to explain the door’s mechanics through the door, but then remember she’s confused about who’s taking her where. Panic sets in until I recall that I let the dog out earlier! I send out desperate thoughts.
7:52 AM
Miracle of miracles, I manage to get back inside. What a relief that would’ve been to explain to a stranger!
7:55 AM
I give my toddler a goodbye hug (freedom is near!). She has somehow donned her coat and backpack, yet I know she still doesn’t comprehend the situation. As I head out, she suddenly realizes she’s going with her dad, and it turns dramatic.
7:57 AM
I make my escape.
8:00 AM
I drive down the driveway, my hot drink now lukewarm but still in hand. I consider this morning a resounding success.
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In summary, a working mom’s morning is a whirlwind of activity, filled with both challenges and small victories as she juggles her family’s needs while trying to carve out some time for herself.