Morning rant

This was not my best morning.  I should have gotten up at 6:30, but because I had been woken up THREE times in the night by a boy who wailed to nurse, that extra 45 minutes seemed crucial to my well-being.  So at 7:15 I jumped in the shower (so as NOT to look like the harried mother I feel like inside).  John was gone by then, but thankfully he made me coffee before he left.  But I still have to dress Mazin, dress myself, feed Mazin, feed myself, and get us both out the door by 7:45.  Mazin wakes up on his own at 7:30, which is nice, and he seems game to tackle breakfast right away.  He asks for a popsicle.  I give him one.  Why not?  They're only juice, and my goal is to keep him happy this morning.  As I'm getting some milk, he spies the leftover noodles from last night in the fridge.  He asks for "nu."  I say no, noodles aren't for breakfast.  Wouldn't he prefer the nice overnight oatmeal that is so conveniently ready for his consumption?  He protests.  I capitulate, vowing to give him a nutritious dinner.  As Mazin stands in his Learning Tower shoving fistfuls of cold pasta into his mouth, I change his diaper and put on his pants.  Things are going well.  I already know we are going to miss our 7:45 departure time, but I readjust my expectations and figure it won't be so bad to be a little late.  But then it's time to take off the pajama top, and that's about when Mazin realizes that he is not running the show--and he doesn't particularly like my directorial style.  He wants to keep his dynosaur pajama top on, thank you very much.  Even if it clashes with his red striped shorts.  Artistic differences.  Again, I decide this is not a battle worth fighting, and capitulate.  I am sure he will not be the first child to arrive at daycare in pajamas.  It's 7:45 at this point, and I realize I really need to move toward the door, or we will never get out of the house.  I put on Mazin's sandals, grab his buttered toast and my coffee, and lure him to the entryway.  Then I realize I have to carry out my computer bag, his diaper bag, his toast, my coffee, and him.  (If I let him walk to the car it will take an hour to get there--literally.)  I decide I have to make two trips.  I pick up the bags and tell Mazin I'll be right back to get him.  He starts to cry and run after me.  This plan won't work.  So I hand him the toast, sling both bags over my shoulders, hoist Mazin onto my hip, and grab my coffee with my other hand.  On the way out the door I manage to knock the mug against the frame, sloshing liquid onto the steps and into my computer bag, which, of course, I have not zipped shut.  It is in this moment that I accept defeat--at least for this morning.  I am inadequate, unprepared, a bad mom, a bad employee.  I put everything down, wipe up the mess, and assessed the damage to the electronics (seemingly minimal).  I scoop everything back up, except the coffee.  It must be sacrificed.  On the way down the steps Mazin drops his toast into the bushes.  I ask him pleadingly, a little angrily, why he had to drop his toast into the bushes.  He laughs.  I want to cry.  I put everything down again and retrieve his toast.  Mazin is now on foot and doesn't want to be carried, so I lure him to the car.  Somehow.  He lets me put him in his seat with only one attempt at escape.  We're in the car.  Sigh of relief.  This is normally the moment when I realize that my keys, sunglasses, or phone are back inside, but somehow they are all where they're supposed to be, and we pull out of the drive without further incident... Until we arrive at daycare and Mazin decides this is not where he wants to spend the day.  He clings to me as I try to smear sunscreen on his exposed skin.  I leave Gerri's with more sunscreen on my shirt than I've managed to get on his body.  Mazin cries.  I close the door and listen to be sure he stops.  He does.  I leave.  I drive the remaining 15 minutes to work in silence, unable to turn on the radio and deal with the world's dramas.  I have enough of my own.  Is it worth it, I ask myself?  What can I do differently?  Go to bed earlier so I can get up earlier?  Just accept that I will always be embarrassingly late for work?  At least I only have to do this two days out of the week.  I can't believe some people do it every day.  How?  How?