Sunday Mornings

This is what my Sunday mornings used to be full of: sleep, NPR, brunch, Advil (due to Saturday night), and episodic TV marathons.

This is what my Sunday mornings are now full of: NOT SLEEP. Coffee, ASAP. Catching up on the news while baby girl amuses herself in five-minute bursts. Trying to con said baby into napping. Cleaning up the same food crumb mess I cleaned up yesterday and the day before and every day since she started feeding herself.

Would I change any of this? Well, yes. More sleep would be nice. Would I change it at the cost of not having my girl? No way. This is the dilemma of parenting. You want your old life back, yet would never sacrifice the reason for the change.

Last night, we did the bedtime battle for over an hour. Dinner was scarfed down to the soundtrack of screaming. Watching a movie was shit-canned in favor of collapsing on our bed and just appreciating silence when it finally arrived.

Here’s the thing. I unconditionally, unequivocally love my kid. However, I won’t say that I unconditionally, unequivocally love having a kid. I don’t think this makes me a bad parent, just an honest one. Parenting is about a thousand times harder than I thought it would be, and I thought it would be hard. But Quinn is also about a million times more awesome than I thought she would be, so the math works in my favor.

I need more coffee.

Quinn trying to drag the cat by his tail.


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