Part-time-working-mom6:00am: Much to our constant surprise, the child awakens with a roaring scream from the room next door. Why it’s always a surprise that she arises so early every day, I’ll never know. Perhaps we just pray every morning that she’ll sleep just 30 minutes longer. It never happens.

6:01am: Realize that there is no possible way that I will be able to begin the day in this state of exhaustion. Plop child in bed with us, turn on Peppa Pig and attempt to get 30 more minutes of shuteye.

6:30am: Declare, “It’s breakfast time!” Take the two-year-old to the kitchen and begin to prepare a myriad of breakfast items ranging from toast and waffles to fresh fruit and marshmallows (don’t judge).

6:35am: Strap reluctant toddler into highchair, as she arches her back in protest. Offer the smorgasbord of breakfast items that I (not-so-) thoughtfully prepared. Each item is met with a strong distaste, “NO CHEERIOS! NO! NOOOOOOOOO!” Tears ensue.

6:37am: After a solid two minutes of begging child to eat breakfast, I commit bribery. It works. She eats the banana. Then, I must give her a cookie to fulfill my end of the bargain (again, don’t judge). Eat the rejected food items whilst singing the ABCs.

7:00am: Kiss my husband goodbye. The toddler would like him to give her several hugs and kisses before his departure. Glare at him in jealousy.

7:15am: Wipe down the toddler, who has used mashed bananas as shampoo. Give kisses. Sweep up the other breakfast foods that were not eaten, but instead thrown on the floor in a fit of anger. Prepare milk, diapers and wipes for daycare – endlessly writing her name on every item.

7:30: Attempt to change and dress the toddler for the day. Pin her down as she squirms, screams and pulls my hair while I attempt to put her socks on. My only recourse is to begin tickling her. She belly laughs and eventually gives into my evil sock-putting-on. Recover. Randomly read “Goodnight Moon.”

7:45am: Take the toddler back to the master bedroom, sit her on the floor and turn on Mickey Mouse (yes, we watch a fair amount of TV in the morning). Attempt to fix her hair as she screams, “NO hair! NO hair!” She gets distracted by Minnie Mouse and I complete a ponytail worthy of being seen in public. Applaud my efforts and quietly say to myself, “I am so winning at this game of life.”

7:50am: Take a shower.

7:53am: Jump out of shower naked and with soapy hair because toddler is trying to escape the bedroom in between pulling the dog’s tail. Throw on nearest clothing.

8am: Grab my purse and about 9,456 other items necessary for the 15-minute drive to the childcare facility. Attempt a WWE wrestling move to get her to strapped into her carseat. Give into her request, “Cheerios, Momma. Cheerios.” Hand over a small container of them for the ride there.

8:15am: Arrive at the daycare to hear the little voice in the backseat plead, “No school, Momma. No school.” Sit in front seat contemplating taking her back home. Feel a ridiculous amount of guilt for wanting to work on a part-time basis. Maybe I should just give it up. I don’t make that much money anyway. What am I doing? Have mini-existential crisis. Contemplate my purpose in life. Come back to reality as she screams, “NO CHEERIOS! NO CHEERIOS!” Then, she proceeds to distribute the Cheerios all over the backseat. It’s time to go to daycare.

8:20am: Attempt to give the toddler a kiss goodbye, only to be met with a stern look and a “No Momma.” It’s obvious that I’m now chopped liver as she’s busy with her school friends. She quickly seats herself at the table ready for her breakfast snack of…Cheerios. Mows throw her bowl of cereal as I wave adieu.

8:30am: C.O.F.F.E.E. stop. Deep breath.

8:35am: Log-on to computer. Begin working.

12pm: Look up from writing only to realize that I’m starving. Because I only work three days a week, but often have a workload for a full five, I realize there’s no time to stop for a lengthy lunch. Run to refrigerator and grab several slices of lunchmeat and cheese. Shovel into my pie hole. Return to work.

1:30pm: Meet with accountant. Realize I often feel so clueless trying to run my own business from home.

4:30pm: Declare, “Oh crap! It’s 4:30 already!” Scurry to finish whatever I’m working on. As quickly as possible, attempt to clean up house, make beds, defrost whatever frozen semi-deliciousness I am tasked with preparing for dinner. Just make it look like you made an effort to be clean and tidy all day.

5:15pm: Enter the daycare classroom only for the little one to scurry into my arms shouting, “MOMMA!!” Pick her up. Get the best hugs that a mom could ever get. Relish in the moment until she shouts, “I walk, Momma. I walk.” Boo. She doesn’t want to be held.

5:30pm: The poor dogs bark in excruciating anticipation as the toddler carefully and quite proudly dumps the food into each of their bowls. Inevitably, a scoop of dog food lands on the pantry floor. The dogs come to my rescue. At least that’s one less thing I have to clean up.

5:45pm: Begin to prepare some semblance of a dinner as the toddler drops an entire puzzle onto the kitchen floor. Before I know it, I’m breading chicken AND playing a two-year-old’s version of soccer in the kitchen. At some point, markers are being used to color the kitchen floor. Say a silent prayer to myself that I only buy washable markers. Wonder aloud, “Why does Crayola even bother making art supplies that AREN’T washable?”

6:30pm: Husband returns home. Rejoice! The two-year-old is now only interested in playing with daddy or just hanging out with him while he changes out of his work clothes. They discuss their days with one another and it’s just about the cutest thing you could imagine.

6:45pm: We eat whatever interesting concoction I’ve planned for the day with whatever groceries are available. Work days are devoted to work only. Laundry, groceries and all that other fun stuff wait until the weekends and “stay-at-home mom” days.

6:47pm: Prepare chicken nuggest and/or macaroni & cheese and/or pizza because toddler has refused everything that we’re eating tonight. Sing “The Wheels on the Bus” and “Twinkle Twinkle” a solid four times as a family. Chug a glass of red.

7:30pm: Clean up the kitchen, which has become a magnet for grossness in a matter of one hour. The toddler “helps” unload the dishwasher and clean the floors with baby wipes.

8pm: Put on PJs, read 17,000 books, turn off the nursery light and rock to sleep. It never fails that the act of rocking this kid to sleep doesn’t do much for her. It actually just rocks ME to sleep.

8:30pm: Inevitably, my husband enters the room only to find me sawing logs, while the toddler remains wide awake on my lap. Place her into the crib, where she swiftly falls asleep. Drag myself to the master bedroom, throw on sweat pants and crash.