Guilty Mummy Morning

As I have mentioned here some mornings are a bit tough with Dylan when I am trying to get him ready to go to Preschool. This morning was one of those. So I thought I would give you a breakdown of what happened this morning in the madhouse…

Myself and my wonderful husband woke up and had a bit of a chat and a cuddle. After a few minutes the Fournado races into our room, clambers over Joe and plonks himself between us regaling us with stories of his dream (something about Elephants surfing and getting stuck in tunnels…) Joe gets up and goes for a shower. Dylan gives me a huge cuddle and a rather sloppy kiss and then starts telling me that he wants to stay at home today and not go to preschool.

“My HATE preschool Mummy… it is SO BORING”

Brilliant. we’re starting early today. Normally he saves this until at least 7:20. Anyway, I get dressed, douse myself in perfume and tell Dylan that we need to go and brush our teeth.

“No… My want stinky breath so my not allowed to go to preschool”

Right, ok. The battle begins… We have a little negotiate and he relents and we go and brush our teeth. I sort his toothbrush out but put the WRONG toothpaste on. Foolishly, I use the minty toothpaste that he has used everyday for about 3 months when OBVIOUSLY he wanted the strawberry one that he has repeatedly claimed to HATE but hey ho, my bad. I rinse it off and we start again but nooooo, apparently he wanted half minty and half strawberry (yuk). Easy mistake to make when he says “My want red toothpaste” he obviously meant a mix. Eventually, he brushed his teeth.  We start to descend the stairs. I go first. Halfway down the stairs Dylan pipes up again… “No Mummy, my want to be the winner” Ugh! So I let him go first which is wrong too. We end up going back up the stairs only to come back downstairs with Dylan in the lead… Ridiculous.

With Dylan in the lead, he belts it into the kitchen and starts making himself breakfast. Grrr.

“Dylan darling, you’re going to breakfast club today. Remember?”

“No, Mummy. My HATE breakfast club”

…After a little negotiate, we walk hand in hand into the living room to get the little dude dressed.

“Take your clobber off then Squish”

We then go through our daily rigmarole of Dylan pretending that he can’t remove any of his PJs. This really annoys me everyday and yes, I should be a better person and be all calm and collected about it but unfortunately, today I just get a bit grumpy and end up shouting. Not my finest minute. Clothes are finally removed and then Dylan starts wriggling about on the floor and dancing about. He is so happy and joyous in his naked dance that it is difficult to be a grump with him but somehow I manage it, because I am an utter bitch at times. We struggle his t-shirt on and off he goes again. A few more minutes tick by and I then get his pants on… more dancing and then socks.

“These socks are too small Mummy”

“They’re trainer socks honey, they’re suppose to be small”

More dancing. Trousers.

“Not these trousers, my can’t undo the fly and my will get wee all over me”

Hrumph.

“Ok, I’ll grab you some other ones”

I run upstairs and get some different trousers for him and leave him in his dancing and singing blissful state. Todays tune is “Can’t Stop the Feeling” by Justin Timberlake… just like yesterday, the day before and several 100 days before that. Right, trousers are on. Now to find his shoes.

“Dylan, where are your shoes?”

“My don’t know”

“Will you help me look for them?”

“No”

“Please”

“No”

Brilliant. Off I stomp. [By the way, Joe is out of the shower and is now having his breakfast… he generally just sorts himself out in the mornings as he likes to get to work early] After a few minutes of looking in the usual places for his shoes I find one under one sofa and one in the back of his bin lorry toy. Dylan is now in the dancing zone and has no interest in getting his shoes on whatsoever. He has taken ignoring me to a whole new and infuriating level. I end up shouting. I really hate shouting at him but sometimes I feel like there isn’t much else I can do, especially when he is ignoring me. We finally get the left shoe on…

“Ouch Mummy, these socks are hurting my feet so badly, ouch ouch ouch”

He puts on a bit of a show so that I know that he’s not faking (he clearly is) but at this point I have lost the will a bit. I ask Joe to grab some socks from the washed pile of clothes that I haven’t taken upstairs yet and after a bit more dancing we manage to get his socks and shoes on, woohoo. Joe says goodbye and gives us both a kiss and leaves the house. Dylan is still dancing around. After a few minutes (I am getting his bag ready) Dylan starts crying. He’s just tried to wave at Joe from the living room window but Joe isn’t there, you know because he left the house about 3 minutes ago. We have a little cuddle until he sounds a bit happier.

Next item on the agenda to tackle is Dylan’s wild thatch of hair. Some days he wakes up and it looks perfect, like a little model but this morning he looks like he slept in a bush. I manage to get the brush through it 2 times before he races off again. I try again and manage another 3 times and it become clear that I am going to need to some conditioning spray to sort out this mess. Again, I race upstairs and grab the spray. By the time I get downstairs his shoes, socks and trousers are off again…

“DYLAN WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Aghhhhh! I wrestle everything back on. Spray his hair under the guise of a bear hug and then vigorously but very gently brush his hair. We have another little cuddle and I ask him to get his coat on. Nope, not interested. We are back to the hating preschool and not wanting to go. I plead. It is now 7:40. He needs to be there for 7:45 and it is a 7 minute walk on a good day, it is not a good day today. There is a bit more shouting but the coat is on, yay! We leave the house and start walking to preschool.

“HONEY BOB”

“What?”

“My want to take Honey-Bob to preschool”

“Really?”

“Yes”

Dylan looks at me with his big browns and starts to look very sad, so off we go to get Honey-Bob the squirrel teddy.

We start off again and Dylan gets upset because he wants to wave at Daddy’s car to say goodbye but yet again, Daddy left a while ago so that’s a no. We have a little in-street cuddle. We do some running, we play a game of name the car colours and the trees and Dylan has a little grumble about the amount of dog-poop about. Dylan’s preschool is in the grounds of a primary school and the easiest way to get to it is to talk around the front entrance of the primary school and around the building. There is a disable access slope up to the school that sometimes Dylan walks up as I walk next to him over the barrier but today we both just walk past. After 10 more paces he clicks that he hasn’t gone up the slope… he wants to go back. I say no, we are really late. Dylan sits down. Great. I plead. Nope, not happening. I ask him again and he stands up, yay! I win… Bugger, he is walking back to the slope in a right strop. He stomps over it, down the steps and back to me looking triumphant. I march him to preschool and ring the bell.

“My wanted to do that”

Ugh! He rings the bell but is getting upset. I give him a cuddle and say to him that I am going to leave him with his keyworker at the door and not walk him in as I am really late now. On a good morning I drop Dylan off at 7:45, race home, make my breakfast,  have breakfast and then race to work for about 8.40. It is now 8. Breakfast is looking like a grab and go kinda deal, not what a pregnant lady wants so I am a bit grumpy…

“No Mummy, please walk me in. My miss you so much Mummy. Please”

Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. We walk in together and he gives me a big hug and a huge kiss and then skips into preschool shouting “byeeeeee! My love you”

Dylan’s keyworker lets me out of preschool and I instantly feel sad, teary and guilty for all the shouty, grumpiness of the last hour or so. I try to peek through the fence at him and he is at the window beaming at me, waving and blowing me kisses. Oh. My heart.

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I have spent the whole day feeling bad about this morning. I feel bad that I lost my temper with Dylan. I feel bad that I am grumpy with him. I feel bad that I am putting him in daycare for such a long time. The days when he is just happy and the days when he is helpful in the mornings are so pleasant and lovely. But days like today are so hard to get passed. I was teary on the way home, I didn’t feel like eating much for breakfast as I was full of guilt. I am sure that some of this is crazy preggo hormones but some days are just hard work and if the morning goes to shit, like today, there isn’t much time to make peace with each other before spending the day apart and I hate that. I really hate it. I know that he is happy at preschool and I know that he enjoys himself when he is there but it doesn’t take away the guilt.

Have a lovely evening

xx

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