I love these. Sometimes they make me sigh with recognition, and sometimes they make me laugh because they are SO far-fetched (and usually in those cases, enviable). Anyway, I thought it would be fun to make one of my own.
I wake up to the sound of crying. Multiple attempts to ignore the crying don’t work, and eventually I give in and get out of bed, taking care not to wake the sleeping dogs and sleeping husband. Inevitably, at least one dog wakes up and looks at me plaintively, wondering if I’ll take him out. I respond by shutting the bedroom door in his face.
Diaper change. Molly is usually sleepy and yawn-y and adorable. She only cries when I have the audacity sneak in a bathroom visit before feeding her.
Breastfeeding, take one. We sit on the couch, with all the lights off except the lamp we keep on 24/7 to deter burglars, and bond over Molly’s breakfast time. Sometimes, depending on how early we started this ritual, we both doze off for 15-20 minutes.
We wake up when Eric gets up and lets the dogs out of the bedroom. It’s hard to stay asleep with Bird jumping all over you, licking your face. She’s used to it by now though, and usually falls back to sleep fairly quickly.
I hand off the sleepy/sleeping baby to Eric and run for the shower, knowing that I have a limited amount of time before she wakes up and starts crying again.
Shower over. Baby stirring.
Baby starts getting fussy. Turn on the blow dryer and hope it soothes her back to sleep.
The blow dryer plan worked, but once it’s turned off, she wakes up again. I hurry through my makeup application and try desperately to remember to put on deodorant. Molly is now crying in earnest as I rush to the bedroom and throw on the first thing I see that fits and is appropriate for an office setting (no easy feat). There’s no time for jewelry selection or anything that might waste precious moments, so I just wear the same necklace every day, or nothing at all. I hastily make the bed to keep Ryder from chewing apart the down comforter while we’re at work (this has happened several times, and a tightly made bed seems to deter his feather craving).
Eric hands off Molly so he can go get in the shower. At this point I have two options – either strap her in her carseat and listen to her scream while I get stuff ready to go, or put her in her Rock ‘n Play and listen to her scream while I get stuff ready to go. I usually opt for the former so at least I’m one step closer to getting out the door.
Feed the fish, add last minute items to lunches, set out lunches, make my coffee, pack bottles, put on my shoes, find my phone, make a smoothie, put away miscellaneous dog bones, straighten up, double and triple check that I have everything, gather it all up in my arms, head for the exit. All while she’s screaming.
Drive to Ashley’s house. Her screaming quiets the moment I put the car in drive. I narrowly avoid hitting trees/other drivers because I can’t stop staring at her perfect little face in the mirror.
Arrive at Ashley’s intact. Molly is usually lightly sleeping by this point. I wake her up, pop out a boob, and settle into “my” recliner.
Breastfeeding, take two. Chat with Ashley and children. Reluctantly start trying to pry the baby off starting around half past 7, but usually end up leaving late.
Leave for work. Feel immediate sense of guilt/longing/wistfulness/sadness/envy.
Workity work, work, work. Obsessively check text messages for cute pics from my sister (and there are always a few). Check in often. Continue to feel wistful. Add in three pump sessions, and call it a day.
It takes me exactly four minutes to get from my desk chair to my car, and that’s not fast enough. I can practically hear her tiny tummy rumbling from miles away. Plus, by this point I miss her terribly.
Get a call from Eric (baby crying in the background): “Will you be home soon, Mommy? Someone is HUNGRY today.”
Begin disrobing on the trip from the car to the front door. Drop everything in the front hall, tear off my shirt and bra, and sit down to feed my hungry little love.
Breastfeeding, take three. Attempt to satisfy her insatiable hunger as mine continues to grow. Did you know that breastfeeding makes you hungry?
Hand her off to Eric and head into the kitchen.
Baby starts to fuss. How is that possible? I was supposed to be cooking dinner but all I’ve managed to do is unpack her bottles and put away half the rack of clean dishes.
Contemplate ordering a pizza.
Decide we can’t have pizza again. Whip together some semblance of a balanced meal while simultaneously washing dishes and utensils as I dirty them so that the sink doesn’t fill up again.
Dinner is ready. Molly is crying.
I shovel food in my mouth while she screams and Eric complains about not being able to feed her. I feel horribly guilty for making her wait, and also inexplicably guilty for his inability to breastfeed. Somehow I know it’s all my fault.
Breastfeeding, take four.
Intermittent breastfeeding between attempting to get things done. It goes a little like this: I feed her until she dozes off, sneak away to quickly pack lunches or put away leftovers, and run back to her when she starts crying (usually in 15-20 minute increments). This is what we call her “hungry time.” Yes, she sleeps through the night, but she certainly takes care to fill up her tummy prior to bedtime. This little window is also the only time I have to blog, which is why it usually doesn’t happen. Eric always tries to hold and comfort her, but inevitably she only wants one thing – milk. And that’s the one thing he can’t give her.
One last breastfeeding session to “top her off” and then it’s time for PJs and bed. Even if she’s wide awake at this point, she is really good at putting herself to sleep in her bassinet. All I do is swaddle her tightly, kiss her little face, and turn on her Sleep Sheep. Within ten minutes, she’s totally zonked out.
Back out in the living room, I contemplate tackling one of the numerous items on my to-do list.
Say to myself, “Screw it, I’ll do it tomorrow.” Know deep down that this will never happen.
Fall asleep before my head hits the pillow.