Thursday morning.

I forgot how much of a morning person I am. After I left my job last summer, I have been pretty much reveling in sleeping late whenever I can. Which happens more than you would think. People always were telling me how early babies get up in the morning, how horrific it is when they wake for the day at 5am, blah blah. Of course, I half don’t want to say this out loud, but my baby is actually rather considerate when it comes to the mornings. Sure, she’s still waking up twice a night on average, but in the mornings? 8 o’clock is early. Yesterday we all slept until 9:15. (Nate is also able to sleep late, since he doesn’t have to be at work until 10)

But last night baby was pretty cranky and fussy and tiredish, so I put her down a smidge earlier than normal. 7:30 instead of 8:00. Which meant that by 7:00 this morning, she was awake and ready to start the day. I was not so keen on he idea, because I stayed up stupidly late, as usual, doing what I don’t know (ok, yes I do know. I was folding laundry and browsing the interwebs and watching Stewart/Colbert and Michael and Michael Have Issues which is actually a pretty funny show and also flipping through porn my Ikea catalog) but ANYWAYS I was up until like 1:30, so suffice it to say that I was not actually all that interested in getting up at 7am, especially since I knew that I had finished all the coffee two days ago and hadn’t bought more because I developed some sort of weird grocery store aversion since the baby was born. But that kid was in there crying, so I got up and was surprised to find that I was actually okay with being awake and out of my bed. So I nursed her, changed her, brought her downstairs for her second and third courses of breakfast (ahhh yes, I’ll start with an order of the mother’s milk, then for the main course I’ll take a tray full of cheerios, and then let’s see, I guess I’ll finish with some of your finest canned peaches, cut up into very small bits.)

By the time Fiona had finished her breakfast (No breakfast for me at this point in the story, stupid thyroid meds. Making me wait an hour before eating anything.), I had made up my mind to run to the grocery store for a. Coffee, and b. Lunchmeat. Because poor Nathan has peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch way more often than any 27-year-old man should.

I could have thrown on some sweatpants and run out the door. But I did not. Thanks to countless hours spent watching WNTW (That’s What Not to Wear, for those of you who aren’t in the know) I am very cognizant of the fact that you are supposed to wear actual clothes when you leave the house. Even to the grocery store. So not only did I get dressed (in a skirt, no less), I did one better. I also did my makeup. That’s right. By 8am I was dressed and accessorized and out the door with makeup on, feeling fabulous. Thank you, Stacy and Clinton. It’s my very own “Chic mom-on-the-go” look.

So out the door, trashcan dragged to the curb, baby in carseat, and go.

And you know what? I don’t actually mind grocery shopping at this time of day. There are a thousand open parking spaces, there was nobody in line at the deli, all the employees were friendly and nice and not at all frazzled and annoyed and world-hatey yet (I’m looking at you, employee of the month), there was no line at checkout. Only two people gushed over the baby, instead of the usual 4 hundred. (I’m not going to go into it, but that’s pretty much why I avoid the grocery store. I can’t handle all the attention I get because of the insane cuteness of my child. I know, I know. I’m all kinds of messed up.)

Did my grocery shopping, got home, brought the trashcan back in from the curb (good thing I didn’t leave it for Nate to do, cause our trashman comes way earlier here than at our old place, and they’re weird about not letting you put the trash out the night before), put away groceries, put the baby down for a nap, made lunch for the boy, ground coffee, brewed coffee, made out with the boy, set out doughnuts, cleaned up from making lunch and the baby’s breakfast, said goodbye to the boy, poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down to blog about all of that.

So. I believe that that answers, once and for all, the question of whether or not I am a morning person. I am. Could you imagine the things I could accomplish if I got up this early every day?!!?!?Fun dangly earrings, huge cup of coffee, apple cinnamon donut.
It’s a good day already.

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