5am – Another day of life. Thank you God for another day. Everyone will be asleep for another two hours. Yay! Two hours of uninterrupted me-time brought to me by me!
Get out of bed. First stop, bathroom and not a moment too soon. Sweet relief! Oh no. Toilet paper roll has one flimsy square desperately clinging to it. Toss in waste basket. Sit and ponder for a moment the inability of the male species to replace an empty toilet paper roll but the uncanny ability to replace an empty cereal box back into the pantry. Both empty, both cardboard, no? Attempt to stand in newly inventedYoga pose to open cabinet over toilet to grab extra roll. Yay! Another roll! Take a moment to appreciate the qualities of my own gender — breasts and foresight, if not the ability to pee while standing. Bump head on cabinet door and lose balance.
Strike pose again and successfully retrieve the spare roll but not before accidentally dropping it into the toilet. (Of course accidentally! Who would purposely drop an entire double roll of toilet paper into an unflushed toilet? Someone comes to mind.) Make heroic yet futile attempt to dodge the yellow tsunami that follows while maintaining yoga pose. Watch in horror as double roll expands into a small Carribbean island. Retrieve slightly used kleenex from robe pocket and the original spent roll out of the waste basket. Peel remaining square from roll and combine with Kleenex to make do. Go to toybox to find Sean’s rubber gloves. Count blessings: It was only pee.
5:30am – Go outside in my sexy hot-pink chenille robe and sneakers to get the newspaper and the first glimpse of another glorious day of life. What’s that on the lawn? Oh Lord! (And this is not a prayer). Something, or someone I cringe to think, has ripped open the garbage bag and strewn a weeks worth of diapers around the neighborhood. Go back into the house. Return still wearing sexy pink robe, but now accessorized with yellow rubber gloves and a surgical mask. Attend to the task of picking last week’s diapers out of my neighbor’s bushes. Neighbor’s sprinkler system suddenly comes on cleaning my teeth like a giant ice cold Water-Pik. Scream. Catch site of neighbor jogging, an Eva Longoria look-alike mother of four who is not wearing a wet pink robe or rubber gloves, but a very stylish black jogging suit. And earrings. Attempt to hide in bushes, but finally give half-hearted wave. Try not to hate her. Fail. Count blessings: I’ll get back to you.
6am – Time for coffee! Thank you God for coffee. Another salute to the gender that can nurse babies, stock TP and pre-set a coffee maker. The kitchen greets me with the heady scent of the elixir of life. Bring cup up to nose, inhale deeply and take in rich aroma. Take extra care not to inhale steaming hot coffee, although after what invaded my nostrils earlier, seems like a reasonable thing to do. Thank God for Juan Valdez. Take sip. Blech! Spit coffee into sink. Rats! Coffee grounds. Catch reflection of self in toaster in wet pink robe and surgical mask worn like a headband. Notice coffee grounds stuck on teeth. Smile wildly into toaster to amuse self.
Make another pot of coffee. Drink entire pot while standing at the sink. Run to restroom with hand between crossed legs. Run back to pantry (in same position) to retrieve economy pack of 36-double rolls of TP, roughly the size of a playpen. Run back to bathroom only dropping flushable playpen once. Cross “work out” off to-do list. Count blessings: Combination of coffee and indoor plumbing.
7am – Take pills. Wash down with cold coffee. Thank God that we can afford to buy enough prescription medication equal in value to the salary of the CEO of Pfizer. Have an “uh-oh” moment when realization sets in that I took three of the little white pills of which am supposed to take one, and one of the slightly bigger little white pill of which I am supposed to take three. Count blessings: Day-long Synthroid buzz.
7:01am – So much for me-time. Get the boy out of bed. Thank God for the boy and his cheery disposition and his smart yellow rubber gloves. Change diaper with no incident. Yay, another blessing. Pray to never see diaper again, especially on front lawn. Hand the boy a sippy cup of milk and join him on the sofa with my Far Side cup of coffee for our morning snuggle ritual. Boy notices the Far Side cartoon on the cup and chuckles. Boy points at the dog hiding in laundry room waiting to close the dryer door on the unsuspecting cat. Boy laughs hysterically and points at the cup until tears come to his eyes. Boy totally gets Far Side. Another reason to keep him. At this moment, I love this boy more than ever. Count blessings: Too many to count.