I often fantasize about waking up at 5 a.m. Let me clarify: I envision waking up at that hour in a very specific manner. In this dream, I tiptoe down the stairs, careful not to disrupt the serene stillness of the house. I brew a cup of coffee and then settle into a cozy spot, savoring each sip while indulging in an episode of my favorite guilty pleasure show. Sometimes, I even take a moment to refill my coffee, returning to my peaceful sanctuary without interruption. By 6:15 a.m., my husband and children stir awake, having allowed me a blissful hour of solitude before the day’s chaos begins. What a dream, right?
Reality, however, paints a different picture. My mornings kick off at 5 a.m., but not in the serene way I envisioned. Instead, they commence with a frantic, primal cry from my son’s room. He’s been vocal since 4:30, but by 5:00, he’s fully awake and ready for action. To avoid waking our daughter, who cherishes her sleep until 7 a.m., we respond promptly. We alternate mornings, for when he wakes, he does so with the exuberance of a thousand suns, bringing with him an insatiable curiosity and a penchant for noise.
As I descend the stairs, my son shouts, “BABA! BABA!” demanding his morning bottle immediately. No, not just now—he means yesterday. As I juggle a full gallon of milk and a wiggling toddler on my hip, spills are inevitable. Thus begins my day: loud cries and puddles of milk on the floor.
The next two hours unfold like this: my son drinks his bottle while watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. We share a brief cuddle before I attempt to change his diaper, a task that feels akin to wrestling an alligator. He spills his milk, first accidentally, then with glee, as he discovers the joy of splattering droplets across our couch and toys. When I finally take the bottle away, he erupts in frustration.
To keep him occupied, I find him a toy, but of course, he gravitates towards the noisiest options. By now, it’s 5:30 a.m., and I sneak into the kitchen to brew my coffee. But he spots me and follows, demanding “APPLE!” So, I comply, slicing an apple while waiting for my coffee to brew. However, once presented with the fruit, he reacts as though I’ve offended him, sending the apple flying to the ground. I pick up the pieces, trying to convey the lesson that apples are for eating, not throwing.
After pouring my coffee, I catch him gleefully tossing the apple pieces one by one onto the floor. It’s now 6:00 a.m., and chaos reigns.
The next thirty minutes are a blur of breakfast preparation, feeding myself, and packing lunches—all done in a rush. I stand, coffee in hand, cleaning up the remnants of my son’s breakfast mess. At 6:30, my daughter wakes, and her arrival coincides with my son discovering the keyboard we left accessible for them to explore. He cranks it to full volume, blasting an ‘80s tune while I attempt to manage the morning.
My daughter, resembling a grumpy four-year-old, now has a laundry list of demands. She wants breakfast, but on her terms. She doesn’t want to go to school, insists on wearing pajamas, and refuses to cooperate with me. After much negotiation and a struggle to get her dressed, I finally manage to set my son in the playpen and turn on Sesame Street, allowing me a brief moment to prepare for work.
Standing in front of the mirror, I realize my hair hasn’t transformed into beach waves as I’d hoped. I scramble to make myself presentable in under twenty minutes, already feeling the weight of the morning’s challenges. Just then, my daughter calls from downstairs, and I rush to see if everything is alright. “MOM! The letter of the day is E!” she exuberantly announces, and I can’t help but chuckle at the urgency.
With my kids finally ready, we load into the car. I wrestle them into their car seats, feeling like I’m at the brink of losing my sanity. After dropping them off at school, I finally sit down at my desk by 9 a.m., already exhausted. In just a few short hours, I’ve cooked, cleaned, and navigated the chaos of parenthood. Yet, I often feel as though I’ve accomplished little, with my blood pressure rising at every turn.
While these mornings are often humorous in hindsight, they are undeniably stressful. Working mothers face the daunting challenge of time constraints that children simply cannot comprehend. Frustration builds when kids resist cooperation, leaving moms feeling guilty for starting the day on a sour note. It’s a balancing act, and the pressures of the workplace add to the morning stress, as employers rarely consider the whirlwind before the clock strikes nine.
Despite the chaos, I know I am fortunate to experience these moments, yet I can’t help but dread them. I strive to find joy in these little instances, but the relentless ticking clock looms large.
Strategies for Easing the Morning Madness
After enduring countless mornings, I’ve picked up a few strategies to ease the process:
- Prepare the Night Before: Have everything—backpacks, lunches—ready to go as you clean up post-dinner. It streamlines your morning routine.
- Simplify Breakfast: Healthy doesn’t have to be complicated. A quick multigrain waffle with honey is much faster than making omelets.
- Incentivize with a Rewards Chart: A little motivation can go a long way for your preschooler. Gold stars for accomplishments can spark cooperation.
- Keep a Playpen Accessible: Having a safe space for your toddler allows you to manage other tasks without constant supervision.
- Take a Breath: Remind yourself that this phase won’t last forever; self-sufficiency is on the horizon.
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In summary, while mornings as a working mom can be chaotic and stressful, adopting a few strategies can help make the process more manageable. Embracing the chaos with a sense of humor and preparation can turn a hectic start into a memorable adventure.