Just another weekday morning with a rug-rat in tow

5 Jan

Toby decided to wake up at 3.30am this morning. Argh! We’re back to letting him cry it out and I daren’t even enter his room for fear that he’ll think it’s playtime. He eventually wore himself out, but by this point I was wide awake and feeling a little traumatised by the experience.

At 5.30am Tom’s alarm vibrated through my un-rested brain and the day began. Toby, who’d obviously exhausted himself from his night-time outburst, was still fast asleep. I went into his room and turned on the light, hoping it might rouse him, but not so much as a stir. I wobbled down the stairs and into the kitchen to prepare his morning bottle, in the process managing to spill a glass of water all over the place. Fab start to the day. I thought by the time I’d got back upstairs Toby would be swinging from the chandeliers (we have small mock ones in our rented house – they’re quite interesting), but he was still sound asleep. It then occurred to me that I could use this opportunity to concentrate on getting myself together. I picked up the cycling kit I’d neatly placed in a pile the previous night (how very organised I found myself smugly thinking) and began dressing.

In the meantime, Tom had taken it upon himself to stroke Toby’s head, which had done the job of waking him. Once woken, Tom decided he was in a rush (he really was, I’ll give him that, but don’t wake him and then hand him straight over!). Toby lay on the bed and for the first time fed himself his bottle while watching me potter around the bedroom, trying to remain calm without my first cup of coffee. It was the cutest thing. He’s self-sufficient – we can leave him to fend for himself. Okay, perhaps not for few more years or fifteen.

Self dressed, tick. Bottle down Toby’s neck, tick. Now to the task of dressing him. I’d also put his clothes for the day out so it was relatively stress-free. Aside from the fact that Toby is always too busy to bother with getting dressed. It turns into a bit of a fight and by the time I knew it I was running late. How is that possible? I was up 1 hr 15 minutes before I had to leave. You get stuck in a time warp with a baby. Time goes by so fast doing all these little, but vital tasks that you don’t feel like you’ve done anything, but equally you’ve not stopped. I miss the simple mornings of throwing my clothes on while having a cup of tea, watching the news and simply shutting the door on my way out. Gone are such civilised mornings.

On with his coat, shoes and cycling hat. I love his little cycling hat. It is bright blue with pirates and sharks on it. I quite fancy getting one myself, but not sure they do them in adult size. We get Toby to nursery on the back of our bikes. He has a little seat. I hate cycling with him on the back and my speed would make a tortoise look like the hare. Since becoming a mum I have developed an irrational fear of everything and anything that carry a small possibility of hurting Toby. I am so aware of this fear I force myself into not reacting when he falls over or bangs himself. I am sure some people think I am cold, but if I let myself begin the journey down that road Toby will end up suffocated by cotton wool.

Anyway, Toby absolutely loves being on the back and giggles and points at everything. En-route we have a little sing-song. ‘Twinkle, Twinkle little star, how I wonder..’, ‘Row, row, row your boat..’, ‘if you’re happy and you know it clap your hands’. At which point I can hear him desperately trying to bring his hands together, but failing due to his coat. I love seeing small children all wrapped up warm, with their arms straight out like planks of wood, being held up by too many clothes. It must be incredibly annoying for them, but looks so sweet.

Finally we’re at nursery and three minutes too early. The nursery won’t let anyone onto its grounds until 7.30 on the dot. I’m asked to wait. It’s a little frustrating when I could be organising myself, but hey ho, that’s the insurance man for you. At 7.30 the gate buzzes indicating I can go in. Two other mums appear and go in ahead while I try to sort myself out; juggling baby under one arm, rucksack in the other and bike somewhere between is not easy. I end up dropping my bag, nearly letting Toby wriggle out from under my arm and throwing my bike on the floor. How embarrassing. The other mums rush to

my aid, but look at me as if I am a loon. It’s all rather mortifying. Anyway, can’t think about it too long – schedule to keep.

As soon as the front door is opened Toby bursts into enormous sobs, which turns to crying, which turns to hysterical screaming. I take his coat off and put him on the floor. Crumpled and staring at me with ‘please don’t leave me eyes’ the volume of his screams increases further. The nursery worker picks him up and I more or less run for the door. If I’m not quick I too might start hysterically screaming. There is nothing like the guilt you feel inflicting


on your child, whether it be mental or physical (just to clarify, by this I don’t mean that I beat my child, I am referring to the awfui first year jabs you help pin your baby down for; shudder). They trust you absolutely and putting them in an unhappy situation is just unacceptable. But he will just have to get used to it. And quick, because frankly my nerves can’t take many more mornings like this.

I have a very small window of time to get to the office, shower and be at my desk on time. I have to hammer the bike, which is good as it gives me an incentive for a proper workout. I turn up to work shaking as I’ve not managed a cup of coffee yet. Run to the shower, deep breaths, compose myself and….

Finally at my desk, I can relax for the rest of the day. Coming to work really is like a holiday and not because I am not rushed off my feet here, but because being a mum is the hardest job I have ever done. And I wouldn’t change it for the world.


One Response to “Just another weekday morning with a rug-rat in tow”

  1. Brandy Meetington April 29, 2011 at 3:19 am #

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