Mornings. Mornings, by and large, are stressful. They are not (not in my world at least) generally a great start to the day, but as each day rolls around there they are again, to challenge you once more. Bad times.
Friday, Saturday, Sunday mornings are pleasant enough, it’s the Monday to Thursday mornings that are the bastard mornings. They are the sods law mornings, the enfant terribles of the daily grind, and let me tell you why…
Despite my best efforts to be organised the night before (a resolution that has waned post the first early months of returning to work), each morning I begin a frantic routine to try and get myself and Allegra out of the house in good time to drop her off at nursery and make it to work at a semi-reasonable time. And it is stressful, by and large.
Let’s take this morning as an example, and – by the way – this morning was marginally less stressful because Richmond Daddy actually did the nursery drop off so that was one less thing to do for me, but all the same I feel a bit like I’ve run a half-marathon before I’ve made it into the office and now I’m pregnant and largely avoiding caffeine, I can’t even rely on a morning latte to pick me up and help me function!
Last night, for the second night in a row, Allegra woke up screaming at around 2am. She was quite hysterical and big fat tears rolled down her face – it was most upsetting and quite a rude awakening at that hour I can tell you. After calming down a bit, she then declared she wanted some milk and to go “that way” (pointing directionally towards downstairs, which I arguably foolishly followed – well, I was half asleep – and then had to reason with her that no, it was not an appropriate time of the day or night to indulge in a spot of In the Night Garden viewing.
We finally made it back upstairs to bed around 2.30am but there was no chance she was going to happily go back to sleep in her cot, so she came into bed with us and the three of us slept fairly well from that point onwards (although it did take me about another half an hour to actually drop off again).
Fast forward to around 6.45am and I was woken by a small hand tapping gently on my face (quite cute, even in spite of the hour); a little finger with a sharp scratchy finger nail poking me up the nose (not so cute at any hour); followed by a full body slam to the chest that any World Wrestling Federation fighter would have been proud of (which fecking hurt I can tell you). After recoiling in pain for a few moments, Richmond Daddy then saw fit to tempt Allegra downstairs with the promise of honey loops and an episode of Night Garden. Thankfully he also returned with a hot cup of tea for me, which did help me feel vaguely human again, but only vaguely.
Tea drunk, loops eaten, Night Garden watched, I then embarked on a whirlwind of activities that included: getting Allegra stripped of PJs, nappy changed, and dressed for nursery; brushing her hair; encouraging her to brush her teeth; fighting with her to try and wash her face; trying to pull together a range of different outfit options to pack into her nursery bag and thinking through what might be needed for a variety of weather scenarios; trying to locate a dummy to pack into her nursery bag; feeding the cat; emptying the cat litter; reasoning with Allegra that she didn’t need more honey loops and that she’d have breakfast at nursery, then giving in and supplying another bowl of loops; showering and washing my hair; putting on a laundry load; giving the cat some treats to stop his incessant miaowing and attempts to trip me down the stairs; changing Allegra’s nappy again after she announced she’d done a poo; getting myself dressed; changing Allegra’s nappy AGAIN after she announced she’d done another poo; wrestling with Allegra to get her socks and shoes on; wrestling with her to get her coat on; wrestling with her to get in the buggy; drying my hair; checking I have all necessary items for work bag; giving the cat some milk to again keep him quiet and happy; dashing out the door and hot-footing it to the station to travel the 45 mins commute into London to get into the office at reasonable hour and having to endure being squashed on a train and a tube, nose to armpit, in the process. Yep, that’s the average start to my day – well actually 99.9% of the time the average start to my day also includes the mad dash to nursery to drop Allegra off before I hot-foot it to the station, so that usually has me feeling even more time pressured and hot and bothered by the time I get on the train.
As I said… stressful.
And this is before I even add a new baby into the mix… Eek!
Are your mornings as frantic as mine or are you smugly organised and find everything runs like clockwork? (if so, I’m not sure I want to know!)