The morning sunlight filters through the window. I listen to the sounds of the husband corralling the kids into their coats and boots downstairs. I enjoy my moment alone.
I pick up my black yoga pants from their spot on the floor near the bed. I ignore the yogurt and porridge stains from the day before. I put them on, along with a pair of clean underwear. I pick up yesterday's t-shirt and throw it in the overflowing laundry basket. I grab a clean t-shirt from the drawer. I pull on the pink hooded sweatshirt I have worn everyday this week. I rifle through the black socks lying on the floor until I find two of mine without stickers stuck to them. I don't bother checking to see if they match.
I glance in the mirror. I contemplate brushing the hair I washed yesterday. Instead I pull it back into a ponytail and pin my bangs back with a bobby pin.
The husband has started herding the kids out the door and into the stroller parked on the porch. That's okay. I'm ready.