Mornings can be the pits

I am not a morning person.

I am even less of a morning person this week since T has gotten some sort of morning monster running through his veins.

Getting dressed? We’re working on “stepping into” our shorts at daycare. At home, we liked to lay there vegging while watching “Mel-Mo” on Sesame Street while I get him presentable. A little bit of a dichotomy when it comes to dressing, yes. But it was working. Until this week when T decided to assert his independence. Clothes? Who needs ‘em! A battle has ensued…every morning. He doesn’t want to lay there, but doesn’t want to actively participate either. You’d think having a fresh diaper was the end of the world. Shorts? T-shirt? One shoe is all that T thinks is necessary to hit the road for daycare as I chase him around the room with him madly shaking his head “no.” Worth having a fit over? Most definitely, says T.

Car? Last week, I had speed bump issue that left my car pretty much non-driveable (don’t ask) – so T and I rode in the Hubs’ car and Hubs’ drove the dealer’s loaner. This week? Mom’s car is SO not cool anymore. How does a 16-month old show this? Every single morning this week, hysterics, tears, screaming, and back-arching escape tactics, while madly pointing at the Hubs’ car saying “this, this.” I get the point. Daddy’s car is bigger, higher off the ground and you can see the school bus we pass on the way to daycare every morning better from his window. But honey, you are going to be driving in mommy’s car for a super-long time, so you best get re-used to it.

Daycare? The little guy has been a champ and running inside every single day with a big ole grin on his face, waving bye-bye at me and blowing me kisses. He knew how to make his momma feel good. Until this week. I don’t know what the deal is but, he refuses, absolutely refuses to walk in. I don’t know if he’s regressing a few months, if the sports car “vrooming” across the street has royally scarred him for life (little man isn’t a fan of big noises) or if he’s just trying to drive me nuts with his new-found decision-making abilities. Whatever it is, my child alternates between wrapping himself around me like a pretzel or temper tantruming on the ground. At 7am, this is not a pretty sight for anyone involved. He cheers up (usually) once our daycare provider gives him some breakfast, but nothing says ruining your morning commute like the feeling you’re abandoning your child after a morning of traumatic clothing and transportation events.

All I can say is TGIF, people. TGIF.