I felt certain I was going to be late to work this morning. My children both allowed me to sleep in until 9 a.m., which is an incredible feat for a nearly two year old and four month old. As I work part-time right now, my work day doesn’t start until 11:30 a.m. This meant that I still had time after my 9 a.m. wake up to snuggle with my children on the couch and watch Little Einsteins on Disney Jr. with my daughter, while cradling my son in my arms and listening to him gently coo and giggle at me.
I got myself showered and ready, and felt calm, content, and relaxed. I finished another bottle with baby Isaac and then changed his clothes. I put him in his swing and he smiled at the flashing lights and lullabies. Then I told Emily it was time to get ready. I brought her to her bedroom and changed her diaper. Then, I attempted to dress her, and this is where the day temporarily fell apart for me.
So, as I drove both children to daycare before arriving at work, I began to compose some neurotic, quite unnecessary, letter to my employer.
I am so sorry I am late to work today. I know I don’t start until 11:30, so I should be able to make it here. I know it’s ridiculous that I’m late. I know I’ve been working here less than three months and I don’t want to gain a reputation for failing to be on time. But, you see, my daughter had a very strong aversion to clothing this morning. I tried; I really did. Trust me that I tried. But, she ran all around the house in nothing but a diaper giggling and constantly avoiding my grip. I know. I know. She’s not even two years old. It’s pathetic; I should be able to control my child, get her dressed, and get to work on time. But, you don’t understand. You may be my boss at work, but Emily is totally the boss the rest of the time. I really answer to her more than you or anyone else. If you have a sincere issue, please take it up with my nearly two-year-old daughter. She’ll set the situation straight, and you’ll surely understand.
However, I managed to pull a pair of tiny denim jeans and a pink top, which read “Daddy Answers to Me,” on just in time to make it through the doors at 11:30. My letter was not required. For Emily, on the other hand, clothing was not optional and I mandated that she dress before leaving the house. I guess I’m still the boss, even if there was a bit of a power struggle. And, I must admit it was an adorable and amusing power struggle. Such are the joys of motherhood.
This is what happened when I let my daughter dress herself on a different day.