Mamas to be: ever wonder what a day in the life of a toddler mom looks like? That’s pretty ambitious of you—let’s just start with simply a morning in the life of a toddler mom, shall we? An entire day might have you rocking back and forth in the fetal position and we don’t want to be responsible for any mental or emotional breakdowns you may experience from reading our site.
And to all our toddler moms out there reading this nodding in silent agreement (or not so silent agreement, yelling out “hell YES” every other line, we want to give you a virtual fist-bump and a vat of wine—we’re in this circus act together.
6:00am – Guttural screams come pouring through the monitor, giving me what I think might be a seizure and making me pee on myself a little (don’t let that alarm you, this is commonplace once you’ve shot a human out of your vagina). However, there is zero chance I’m getting out of this bed a minute before 7am, so I roll over and try to tune out the exact same sounds I heard in a war movie last weekend.
6:50am – Eventually she fell back asleep but now she’s up again, wailing and pacing the crib maniacally like a caged animal. I close my eyes tight for ten more minutes praying today isn’t the day she tries to catapult her body over the side of the crib using her Minnie Mouse doll as a booster (I know this day is dangerously close but I’m in complete blissful denial).
7:00am – I trudge upstairs still asleep (I don’t do mornings, which is unfortunate because she does the hell out of mornings) and open her door. Upon seeing me she immediately flings her body back down to the mattress, burying her head and assuming sleep position again. She then shrieks when I try to rescue her from the crib - like she wanted me to do for the past hour - because that’s what toddlers do: they scream like their fingernails are being plucked off one by one when they want something, and then they scream like their fingernails are being plucked off one by one when you finally give it to them. It makes zero sense and there is no rhyme or reason. The sooner you learn and accept that, the less time you spend crying while hiding in your closet.
7:02am – I attempt a diaper change but she’s writhing and flailing every limb like a wild animal. I say sternly, “Okay, you’ve let me no choice, you’re gonna make me pull out the belt!” which sounds like I’m a drunk abusive step-father from the 1960s, when in reality I’m just talking about the “seat belt” attached to her changing pad. I strap the belt across her mid-section in an attempt to keep her still enough to wipe her butt and slap on a new diaper. I’ve already worked up a slight sweat—how can a 2-year-old have so much unbridled strength?! I try to tell myself I’ll appreciate it when she qualifies for the 2030 Olympics.
7:10am – We finally get downstairs and I immediately gear up for the anarchy that is breakfast, or any mealtime, really. After offering pancakes, jelly toast, yogurt, a plate of day-old chocolate chip cookies and a straight up vat of pudding with a straw, she declines every single morsel of sustenance and ends up chewing on a plastic Tupperware lid while crying, probably because she’s starving.
7:25am – I wave the white flag on breakfast and set her loose in the house for her morning terrorizing of our dog, Milo. I sort of feel bad for Milo but it’s truly every man for himself in our household since we’ve entered Scout’s “spirited” phase, so I kind of slink into the wall and act like I don’t see anything, even though Milo’s “help me” eyes are boring a hole into me.
7:40am – Has anyone ever tried to dress a toddler? Toddlers equate you putting a shirt on their torso with you breaking their arm in three different places. The tears that come with clothing their bodies are other-level. Much bartering ensues, mainly centered around giving her a bag of cookies if she agrees to wear pants today.
7:47am – Mama already needs a break, so I turn on Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and let her zone out for a few minutes while I attempt to eat a healthy breakfast (i.e. I just eat all of her breakfast leftovers because they are way better than my smoothie). Then I slip into my uniform – leggings, a tank top, dry shampoo (spray), more dry shampoo (powder), top knot, enough makeup to cover the zits and the bags, and my running shoes (which I will not run in).
7:58am – If she has school that day, I now toss a bunch of organic, stupidly expensive food from Whole Foods into her lunch box, none of which she will eat, and pack up her backpack.
8:00am – On Tuesday/Thursdays, we’re off to school at this time; on Monday/Wednesday/Friday, we’re plotting how to seize the day (and I’m counting down until wine time).