I wake up hearing Maddie sing-song-ing to herself in her crib. It’s not even 7am yet. I need a shower, I need to brush my teeth, I need to get dressed. All before she decides she’s not happy in her crib anymore and wants out NOWNOWNOWNOW.
I do all these things in under 10 mins, while Daddy helps keep Maddie happy and gets her dressed (and yes, she looks like her Daddy got her dressed – whatever, it’s just daycare, its not a fashion show).
He does the hand-off, while I’m putting on makeup and trying to make my hair not look like it hasn’t just been wet down in the shower and left to die.
Maddie plays in the bathroom cupboards, obsessed with my pick, hairbands, and lipgloss.
I grab extra diapers, my fancy work boots and a sweater for her. We head downstairs for breakfast.
I start to get some breakfast together, while she gets milk in a sippy cup that she proceeds to throw a) at the tv, b) over the baby gate into the dining room, and c) into the green bin under the sink (she’s OBSESSED with the green bin!!!).
I wrestle her into her highchair. I give her the cut up banana and her milk while I get the toast ready. As I’m buttering the toast, with my back to her, I hear a) the sippy cup get tossed to the ground, and b) slap, slap, slap as a bunch of banana falls to the ground.
I give her some toast, and try to swallow some down myself while I make her lunch. I’m mashing avocado, scooping cottage cheese and cutting up pear while she yells screams yells at me.
She’s now eaten maybe 2 pieces of banana, and 1/8 of a piece of toast. I try some yogurt. She grabs at the container, jamming her fist into the yogurt and spreads it across her face. I force feed the rest into her while she screams at me. Then I wipe her face, her hands, her forehead, part of her hair and the tray down.
I let her down from the chair, she immediately picks up a piece of toast and throws it at me. Then mashes a fallen banana piece into the floor with her foot.
I gather up the banana pieces and throw them into the green bin. I pick up the toast and (without realizing what I’m doing), eat it.
Yes. I eat toast that has been thrown on the floor. Twice.
And not only that – even as I realize I’ve just eaten off my floor like a dog, I pick up another (non-mashed piece of banana) from the seat of her chair and eat that too.
She plays with the phone, calling god-knows-where, while I finish packing her lunch. I run this, my computer bag, her diaper bag and my purse out to the car. I get my jacket and boots on. I chase her around the living room, trying to get her jacket on.
I manage to wrestle her jacket on, find a spare binkie and get her into the car seat. I return to the house to find my keys and blackberry. And we’re off. I drop her at daycare and head to work.
I realize I left my tea and my lunch on the counter in the kitchen.
Oh well – at least I ate half a slice of floor-toast.
PS - don't feel too badly for me. There were fancy croissants in the kitchen at work when I got into the office. So I'm good...