I struggle in the morning. What else is new?

So when I was pregnant, I had this crazy idea that motherhood would force me to be a morning person. I've never been one in any sense. In college, making it out of bed before ten was a major accomplishment, and usually only happened if I had a nine o'clock class where attendance was part of our grade. (I only ever had an eight o'clock class once, my first semester, and I quickly learned from my mistakes.) I figured a baby with her own schedule would force my body to adjust. In a way, it did. I never stay up past eleven anymore, ever. But I discovered that just because your body is up and moving and taking care of a kid before 8 am doesn't mean your brain is. Basically, Madeline and I don't really start our day until we've been up a few hours, because morning coherency will never be a skill I can master. Jessie just laughs at me, as I sit on the couch, glassy eyed and unresponsive, trying to figure out why Madeline is so dratted chipper when the sun hasn't come up yet. It's six thirty and she wants to go play in the backyard in her pajamas, and I'm thinking, where does that door go again? We have a backyard? We have a kid? Don't make me face these realities before at least noon. I was in the middle of a great dream about throwing spaghetti at some bullies from high school, and I'd like to find out how it ends. Oh well. I guess I'll just have to accept the fact that I'll never be one of those mothers who gets up at five thirty in the morning to jog five miles and make homemade bread for the kid's school lunches. I'll be the mother who takes her children to the bus stop in pajama bottoms and ratty hair. I'm okay with that.