I am a morning person. By this I mean that I can get up early and function reasonably well and quickly. Therefore, I am a morning person, but an enraged, homicidal morning person. You see, Mr. A is not a morning person. This one little thing may well be the downfall of our marriage because we commute together, which means I am late every.single.day.
This morning was no different. I get up at 5:30 am, realize I don’t have any clean pants, and quickly shave my legs. At 5:40 I tell Mr. A to get up. I remind him that I had been late every day for the past two weeks, and it was not going to happen again.
At 5:53, Mr. A slithers out of bed. By this point I am fully dressed, hair and makeup included. I wake up Miss L. Miss L hates waking up this early. I put her on the changing table for a diaper change, but she roles over to go back to sleep. When I turn her back around, she bursts into tears. I feel awful.
At 6:05, Miss L is in a clean diaper and dressed. I go back to the bedroom. Mr. A is sitting on the bed, staring at a sock in his hand.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he says.
I resist killing him, but barely. “Hurry the fuck up,” I tell him.
I take Miss L downstairs for breakfast. While she is eating her Cheerios, I put together a lunchbag with an afternoon snack for the trip home, feed the dog, and put random dishes in the dishwasher.
It is now 6:20. I run up the stairs, pound on the bathroom door. “We have to leave in ten minutes! Hurry the fuck up!” I yell.
I run back downstairs. Miss L has taken off her shoes. “You have to wear shoes to go to school,” I tell her. “Sit down so I can put your shoes on.”
“I will not sit down,” Miss L says. “I’m poopy.”
I sink down onto the chair and bury my head in my hands. I am completely overwhelmed.
Miss L pats me on the arm gently, concern on her face. “It’s ok, Mommy. I go tell Daddy to hurry the fuck up.”
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