With the new year, I’m starting to think about my upcoming return to the working world. I’m sure I’ll miss my daughter terribly, but that’s actually not my first concern. My more immediate worry: How to get out the door. Our office has a fairly flexible start time; I just need to be at my desk by 9:30 am. Prior to being pregnant, my goal was to get to work by 8:30, which sometimes translated into 9. After two and a half months at home, I’m still usually in pajamas at 10. Ok, ok, I’m in pajamas all day as often as not. This led to my decision that we should spend the month of January getting our morning routine down. I figured we’d start with a realistic goal, and move the time back each week…

Week 1: Be fully dressed and ready to walk out the door at 9:30 (not that I’d actually be going anywhere).

Day 1: Emily 1, Mom 0. I set my alarm. I woke up when it went off. Emily didn’t. I should probably note here that she sleeps with on me. We sleep in a recliner in her room. I never intended to cosleep, I know you’re not supposed to, but the dirty little secret is that most moms I know do at the beginning. We’ve tried putting her in her Rock-n-Play, in her swing, in her Pack-n-Play, and in her crib. If we’re lucky, she gets 15 minutes of sleep before screaming. Anyway, I digress. I didn’t really want to wake a sleeping baby, so I turned off the alarm. She started stirring by around 9 am, and I thought, “I may still be able to make it.” Emily opened her eyes, closed them again, smiled, and continued sleeping. Five minutes later, she did it again. She finally woke up around 9:15. I fed her, and handed her off to Mark at 9:30, noting that she needed a diaper, and started getting ready. While I wasn’t ready to walk out the door at 9:30, I had at least given her to Dad by then. Not horrible for our first try, but clearly, we need some practice at this, so I’m glad we have a few weeks!

I had originally thought about actually leaving the house at the designated time to also give Mark some practice at parenting solo, but today happened to have a high of -13 with a windchill of North Pole. There’s no way I was going to walk to the mailbox to mail thank you notes from Christmas, let alone walk across parking lots when I don’t have to. So once I escaped the clutches of cuteness, I went downstairs to make myself a real breakfast and start on schoolwork since my class started this week. All the while, I hear Mark talking to Emily, knowing I’d overhear… “Wait until I tell your mom you punched me in the face/drooled all over me/clawed a hole in my chest.” My response of “I’m not here” was met with a video call. This little experiment is not going well.

To be continued…