Confessions of a failed morning routine

The floorboards beneath my feet creaked. He sat up, rubbing his sleepy eyes, haphazard wisps of blond hair glowing in the shadowy light.

“Daddy went to work,” my 2-year-old son states matter-of-factly in a croaky miniature voice. He sounds like part frog, part angel.

“Yeah, Daddy is already at work. Good morning, buddy.”

He yawns and starts to blabber sweetly about other things. I smile because I love mornings like this. They’re delectable.

“I love you buddy,” I say.

“I love you too, Mommy,” he replies.

This will be a good morning, I think. I relax a little. I look at the clock—there’s still plenty of time before we have to leave.

“Ok, let’s go potty.” I pick up my son and carry him to the bathroom, snuggling his warm fuzzy head against my cheek. I put him down, pull down his pajama pants and take off his diaper.

“No. I don’t wanna potty.”

I tense slightly. The word “no” uttered by a toddler can often indicate an abrupt shift is about to occur…

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