Monday Morning Mania


Here is a peek into my Monday morning, told from my dreary and hazy in-the-trenches perspective.

Ah! The alarm! Rise and shine! It is five o’clock in the morning. It is Monday. Time to get this week rolling. (No. Really. I’m a morning person.)

Stumble to the shower. Conduct hygiene business. Hum a bit. Hummm. Humm. Humm. Do hair and make-up. Get semi dressed. La dee dah. Life is good. Start coffee. Life is going to be better soon. Blessed caffeine is coming. Inventory diaper bag. Oh dear, we are almost out of diapers. We can’t have that. Skip merrily to nursery to get diapers for the diaper bag.

Step in dog pee.

What the &*%#$@*%! Mother &*%#$@*! Agghhh!

Stomp cursing to bathroom. Stick foot back in shower while balancing on the other and attempting somewhat successfully not to get hair, make-up, and clothing wet. Briefly contemplate creatively heinous punishments for the dog. No. No. The kennel sounds reasonable. Dry foot. Search quickly for the dog. The furry heathen is hiding.

Time to get the kiddo ready for school. Man I can’t wait to see that ‘Hi Mom!’ smile. I could almost pee from anticipation of the ‘Hi Mom!’ smile. What is this? The ‘I hate you and everything in the world’ death glare. Oh no! Not the quivery lip. Oh! Real tears. Yikes!

Kiddo has nasty brown/yellow boogers obstructing her nose and smeared from her nose to her lip. I have never seen a substance quiet like it in those quantities. That must be the source of the death glare. Must wipe boogies!

Into the nursery with kiddo to wipe her face. What? This is not the expected result. Why is the kiddo screaming bloody murder? Apparently I am wiping the boogies with an acid peel of torture.

Food. She needs food! I will make the child happy with food! Place kiddo into pack-n-play so that a fresh bottle can be made. More bloody murder in baby scream saying, “Not the pack-n-play you evil Mother woman! This is the most horrible place in the world! Not the pack-n-play!”

Must make bottle faster. But wait, there is coffee. Must – have – coffee. Caffeine Brainzzz! Take both coffee and bottle to living room. Remove kiddo from the world’s most horrible pack-n-play and give her a bottle with one hand while drinking cold coffee with the other. Wipe more boogies from the kiddo’s nose. Ah! The acid must be gone from the cloth. She is no longer screaming. Now I just hear ringing in my ears.

Blessed ringing peace.

Success! I can now prance off to the nursery with a semi smiling kiddo. La de dah! Hummm. Humm. Humm. Changing the diaper. Changing the diaper. Changing the clothes. Changing the clothes. Make some silly faces. No smile. At least it isn’t the death glare. Sit the kiddo up.

What is this? This is going to be quite a sneeze. Yep. Oh! What? No! Little choke. Sit her up more. Oh my! Projectile spit up of her entire recently digested bottle onto clean diaper and shirt. Crap. Crap. Crapity. Crap. Poor thing.

Let’s get these nasty clothes off you munckin. Take off the shirt. Changing the diaper. Changing the diaper. Hmmm. Wonder if you are running a fever? Let’s take your temperature.

Taking the temperature. Taking the temperature. Good. It doesn’t look like you have a…What! Oh! OOH! NO! Retch!

Exorcist Poo!

Green! Everywhere! The wall! The second diaper! The changing table! The clean outfit! The diaper wipe box! No! No! Don’t! Oh! Not the feet! Not the feet! Oh!

&*%#$@*%! Mother &*%#$@*! Agghhh!

Retch. Dear God! The smell! Dear God! Retch.

Hold it together. You can do this. This isn’t so bad. This is part of being a Mom. Those yahoos you see on Cops and Springer do this. Britney Spears has done this. You can too. Just get a hold of yourself and clean the kid up. Dear God! Change the diaper. Wipe the poo. Change the diaper. Retch. Wipe the poo. Ug!

Stumble incoherently retching back to the world’s most horrible pack-n-play with clean and empty kiddo. Life must go on. Diaper bag must be loaded for day care. Sheets and blankets. They must be found! Sheets and blankets. Big breaths. Big breaths. No puking! There is no puking in Motherhood!

Search through piles of clean laundry that was not folded this weekend for clean crib sheets. Why didn’t I fold this laundry? This is not going well. Oh, the leaning over is getting me. This is going to be a situation. Oh geez. Stand up. Retch. Heave. Deep breaths.

Oops. Woke the spousal unit . Bless him. He is going to find the sheet. Big hug. Ah! That makes it better. So much better. He is the greatest, most fabulous man on earth.

I will survive! I will survive. Got a little disco thing going on. Oh yeah. Take the found sheet and blanket to kitchen. Lean over to pick up the diaper bag.

What? No? No? Sneak attack. Battle stations! Get to the sink!

Engine room. Damage report.

Captain, we needed that caffeine. The core is going critical. We are all going to DIE!

&*%#$@*%! Mother &*%#$@*! Agghhh!

And where is the heathen dog! Argh!

I’m going to “work”. Where life is easy.

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