Toddler = Brutal Crusher of Dreams. For Real, Y’all.

Perhaps you heard my wail of anguish this morning.

No? You must live in Canada. Or Portugal. Or possibly on the moon. (All this according to my husband. He’s a helpful kind of guy.)

Still no? Well, then, LET ME RECAP YOU, FRIENDS.

(Yep, it’s going to be that kind of post. I should really install oh sh*t handles on this blog. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Also, mom, dad, in-laws and any other foolhardy soul who has a lingering good impression of me, there will be cussing. Just, you know, FYI.).

Anyway, so:

THE SCENE

 0610 hours. Zoom in on tired mommy, head buried in pillow. Light in hallway switched on by helpful husband, sound of dryer door opening. And then, small voice:

“Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama?”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.”

You see, I haven’t mentioned that for the last ten days – since Daylight SAVING Time, in fact – Dane has been sleeping until seven in the morning. This may not seem late to some of you, who have happy, late-slumbering children. Forgive me if I hate you (I promise, it’s only temporary. When Dane’s 17 and sleeping until noon, we’ll be cool.). My wee guy, however, wakes up somewhere between the ass crack of dawn and well before the rooster crows. And when Daylight SAVING Time rolled around, we up in the SFB ‘hood had the awesome idea of, you know, not changing a thing, and sure enough, Dane’s wake-up time shifted to SEVEN FREAKING ACLOCK, Y’ALL (also, pretty sure that’s not how you spell “o’clock,” but if you have an issue with that, get your butt up at SIX. A.M. TOMORROW.). And oh heaven, how we rejoiced.

And then.

Perhaps you know I have a THING with karma. Karma hates me. I know this, she knows this, the internet knows this, yadayadayada. As a result of my constant war with karma, I’ve been crazy careful to only sparingly mention the whole late-sleeping baby business to anyone, and even then have ended any conversation about said baby with -but I’m sure it’s just a short reprieve and/or we’re still expecting him to adjust. And that was true, too, for the first three or four days. But then three days turned into a week and a week into ten days and OHMYGOD Y’ALL HE’S GOING TO SLEEP UNTIL SEVEN ALL SUMMER AND I’M GOING TO GET MY LIFE BACK AND START RUNNING AGAIN AND NO LONGER DEPEND ON STARBUCKS FOR MY SANITY.

And then, and then.

Yesterday, Dane woke up at 6:30. Not too early right? No big deal. And then today, 6:10. And yes, sure, these two days could just be an anomaly or the result of my husband turning on the freaking hall light at six in the morning (he did), or that Dane’s dinner last night consisted of three strawberries and half a piece of oatmeal bread (it did), or even that Dane’s getting yet another tooth (he is and OMG can we please just get this kid dentures already, I’M. NOT. SLEEPING.). Maybe there was a noise outside his window or the moon was in Aquarius or a butterfly flapped its wings in Shanghai. But I know better. And so, tomorrow, when you hear the faint echo of a tormented mommy wailing outside your window, well before the sun has the temerity to show itself over North Carolina, or Canada, or Portugal, or wherever you are, let me just say in advance: Good. Freaking. Morning. Y’all. 🙂

Note fully dressed toddler squatting in my EARLY MORNING SHADOW.

Smooch -s

p.s. Thank you to Cynthia at Commonplace Crazy for sharing that “Daylight Savings Time” is actually “Daylight SAVING Time.” This information has allowed me to act superior to my family, friends and neighbors ALL DAMN WEEK. WIN.

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10 thoughts on “Toddler = Brutal Crusher of Dreams. For Real, Y’all.

  1. Susan, you are so funny! I love your blog! It’s reminding me of all the wonderful tortuous things my children did at that age!

    • Right? Seven a.m. is downright LUXURIOUS around here. Not that I don’t love my baby but man, the one thing I’m looking forward to in the teenage years is SLEEP.

  2. Pingback: Toddler = Brutal Dream Crusher, The Sequel | SmushyFace, Baby

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