Wake up before anyone else.
Slip into a beautiful, clean robe and clean slippers.
Shuffle into the kitchen and start a pot tea.
Sit in a window seat where the sun rise is just warming everything up.
Curl up with my tea and pray for my family.
Read the bible.
Journal in each of the babies journals.
Enjoy watching the world wake up.
Take a shower, blow dry my hair, put on some make up and an outfit that says..."I have great style and don't even have to try."
Go get my cooing baby out of the crib.
Feed him breakfast while I cook a healthy, hearty breakfast for my husband.
Pack Noah lunch and send him to work with a kiss.
What it actually is:
I hear Barclay screaming.
I just out of bed wearing probably nothing but two mismatched and very unattractive fuzzy socks.
Noah fusses at me because he's scared the neighbors will see me naked at 6:30 am.
I do it anyway because I can't find any clothes in my tired state of mind.
I make Barclay a bottle in hopes that I can gain a few extra minutes of sleep.
I gag when making the bottle because of morning sickness.
I get a grand total of ten extra minutes of sleep.
I beg Noah for 5 minutes to get Barclay.
I get up and put on my old robe which may or may not have banana squished on it. I have to wear it inside out so the banana doesn't touch my skin.
I get Barclay out of bed and start feeling sick so I put him on the living room floor to play and I watch something I dvred from last night.
I feed Barclay cereal and end up just munching on some nuts for breakfast.
Noah wakes up and I have to dig through the mountains of clean laundry to find his work clothes.
I then have to put them in the dryer to get the wrinkles out.
Noah leaves for work and it's 8 o'clock and I'm already exhausted.
There has got to be some happy medium between these two...don't you think?