Mornings
Mornings are always tough. I always get up late (so I guess I always get up on time?), to the sound of Audrey babbling. I love to hear it, but I know that my time is limited before she gets insistent about getting her cup of milk. So I dash through the shower and other morning prep (thank goodness for curly hair: no need to blow dry--just mousse and go); find something not too terribly wrinkled to wear; run downstairs to get the milk and get Audrey's oatmeal going; then back upstairs to greet the princess. During all of this chaos, Marshall sleeps on peacefully.
But that's not the hard part. I don't mind rushing through. What I hate is when it's time for me to go. Marshall takes Audrey in to daycare in the mornings, and I pick her up in the afternoon. I used to do both, but I had visions of getting into work early and thus home early for more time to spend with Audrey and time to get dinner started, so we could eat as a family (as it is, Audrey eats at 6:30 pm, and we eat somewhere around 9:00 pm). But I always get up late, remember?
Anyway. As I grab my lunch bag, purse and any work I brought home, Audrey walks over to me, arms upraised to be picked up. I squat down, give her a hug and kiss and tell her to have a fun day. "Mama loves you!" I say, brightly.
At this point, Audrey will either cling to my leg and wail or wander off to watch The Wiggles. When it's the latter, my heart breaks as I uncurl her little fingers and hand her off to Daddy. When it's the former, my heart just breaks to leave her.
Sigh. Mornings are always tough.