Is it Monday Already?

Most of you know that I rarely blog this early in the day but it's not even 7am yet and this day is special. Not special as in 'Oh, isn't that special,' but "special" as in 'Oh, isn't that just special.' (It really only works if you say it in a tone dripping with sarcasm.)

We were awakened by a 'hungry' screaming baby (how can you seriously be hungry? you've been eating all night wee Goat?!). Only maybe it's not hunger? At what age do babies start having bad dreams? Anyway, I got up to change her because I figured she'd be wet and I was sure I was already 'smelling' something. She wailed through the entire change. Then I put her back in her crib so I could go wash my hands. The Husband walked blearily into the bathroom.

Me: Really? It's that time already?

The Husband (groggily): Yeah.

Me: I thought you set your alarm?

The Husband: Me too. I think I must've turned it off in my dream. Only it was real.

Me: Gahhhhhhh!

So instead of my usual morning routine, wherein I feed the Goat and get up to get the Husband's breakfast ready and get all his stuff (lunch, pen, ID badge, etc.) ready for work, feed the cats, and then go back upstairs and sit in the spare room and pump whilst I have my quiet time, I am sitting here BEFORE 7am, blogging.

So The Husband has already left for work. He's fed, the cats are fed, and I was partially fed. Then the Little Goat woke up. Again. Then she came downstairs and while I tried to feed myself with her perched in my lap, I dumped most of my cereal bowl on my leg, the chair, and the floor. T-minus two minutes until the Husband is supposed to leave for work.

I plop the Goat down in her new bouncy seat and she is momentarily content. I trip upstairs (no really, I did trip) to put on different pajama pants only to realize that they got mixed up in the laundry when my parents were here and my Mom has now 'stolen' my only other flannel jammies and it's COLD in here. Sweatpants it is then.

Back downstairs, The Husband is ready to walk out the door. A kiss for me, a kiss for her and

Me: You're not really wearing slippers to work are you?

TH: I would've looked pretty dumb walking across the parking lot wearing slippers.

Me: You said it.

So. The Husband is gone to work, the cats are fed, the cheerios and soymilk mess are cleaned up off the kitchen floor (the chair cushion will have to be washed later and the pajama pants are ready to soak in the sink upstairs), the Little Goat is in her chair. Hungry. And Drooling. Again.

(I know you'll forgive me for switching 'tenses' multiple times in my post this morning. On the other hand, I AM Canadian so it's inherent in my writing style already, isn't it?)