I always wake Isla up at 6:15, so I'm used to sitting down for a nice, relaxing breakfast at 5:45. But wait, what's this I hear? Oh, it's Isla jabbering to herself in her crib at 5:45. WTF. She loves mornings. She is happy, she is joyous, she has no idea that it's 5:45 a.m. and she is screwing with my routine and my breakfast.
I scarf my breakfast as fast as I can so I can tend to her before she loses her shiit.
She is ecstatic to see me, but then I need to change my sweet girl's diaper because it is usually soaked with urine and a few turds. She goes from happy to this:
Obviously I am ruining her world because she would prefer a soggy, crap-filled diaper to lug around for the morning.
I bring her downstairs to eat and she proceeds to slaughter me with her legs while I'm nursing her.
In the next 20 minutes I manage to feed the dog, give her the nebulizer meds for her cough, and then shiit starts to get crazy. Literally.
Because she has woken up earlier than usual, I haven't had time to do my #2 bathroom visit.
I always use the upstairs bathroom that is attached to my bedroom, so I have to close the bedroom door to corral Isla while keeping the bathroom door open so I can see her.
I set a few toys out for her to play with, but of course she loses interest almost immediately.
Commence the whining. Now, I don't know about you, but I need to have some kind of quiet when I'm going to the bathroom. Pretty hard when there's a baby whining 10 feet from you.
After her fit of boredom, she catches my eye on the toilet and realizes:
"THERE'S MOMMY!!! I'm going to go get her!" Commence the frantic, excited crawling towards me.
Now, I just can't deal with this because I'm on the effing toilet trying to poo and she's getting closer and closer.
I reach over to the counter and grab things and start throwing them past her to catch her attention. A loofah. A small box. Nothing is getting her to turn around and crawl towards those. I'm throwing objects like she's an effing dog who can play fetch.
Finally, something catches her eye. The doorstopper. You know, the thing that looks like this:
She realizes she can move it and it will make a noise.
Sweet. She's distracted and I can finish my toilet visit. She then hits it super hard, it makes a louder noise than usual, and she freaks the eff out.
She has done this three.days.in.a.row. Pavlov's dog? I think not.
Because she is frantic and scared, what does she do? You guessed it. Crawls to me, sits at my feet with her hands in the air wailing, "Ma ma, ma ma, ma ma!!!"
What the hell do I doooooooo? I'm on the freaking toilet! I have to pick her up, turn her around, and continue to throw things at her to play with.
I finish my business and pick her up, but she now has her heart set on the dog while I'm trying to get dressed for work.
The feeling is not mutual.
I have to try to keep her away from him all while trying to pick out a semi-matching outfit and I end up sweating like I just got out of a sauna.
By the time we leave the house, I am a frantic mess and my head feels like it's going to implode.
Welcome to my mornings. Let's see if tomorrow is any different.