Mornings are a nightmare. I'm always late getting up and I have a speed-shower chanting "please don't wake up, please don't wake up" because if Jack wakes up he comes to his door and wails "mamaaaaaaa!" until I open it.
Once that door opens it's BOOM - full-on toddler. A barrage of questions and demands and whining and more questions and more demands. I'm trying to dry my hair or make up his packed lunch while half-heartedly replying "uh huh" and "yes love" and "no you can't have another". All of this is done at breakneck speed and I don't calm down and actually breath till we're in the car and on the way to daycare.
So now I've set the scene for my usual morning I'll tell you what happened this morning. We're sat at the table, eating cereal. Well, I'm eating and he's jabbering on and I keep saying "come on, eat your breakfast", using my own spoon to shovel Cheerios in his mouth. I finished before him and told him "mummy's finished" to try and hurry him up. He looked into my empty bowl, looked up at me with total love on his little face and said "mummy share mine?" and tried to feed me with his spoon.
It felt like a big arrow went right through my heart, and hopefully a big thud on the head to say "wake up woman, your son is only this age today!"
So, I promise I'm going to be a better mum in the morning and take time to enjoy our little bit of time together, instead of running around like a lunatic, telling animals to bugger off from under my feet and being impatient with everyone.
This will no doubt change next year when Danny arrives. I'm already getting my knickers in a twist about the stress of getting two kids out the door.
Picture: Jack helping me wash my fat and stupid-looking carrots.