I am a morning person.
That doesn’t mean that I’m up at the crack of dawn, but I do function better in the earlier hours than I do in the later. I’m much more willing to get up at 5:30 to start my day than I am to stay up past 11:00, for example, and, in my house, Mommy is the one who gets mornings going and Daddy is the one who tucks everyone in at night.
For all of that, I hate eating breakfast.
I love breakfast foods, mind you. Cereal, orange juice, muffins and pastries, toast and jam, oatmeal, bacon and scrambled eggs; I love them all – just not in the morning.
Up until I got pregnant with Punkin’ Pie, breakfast for me consisted of a glass of Ovaltine. That’s it, thank you very much. Then, my OB prescribed these horse-pill vitamins and, being the good mother that I already was, I took them like I was supposed to. They turned me green – me, who hates to puke and who was reveling in the fact that she didn’t suffer morning sickness – and I called the OB and complained. The nurse asked me if I was taking them with food and my answer, “does Ovaltine count as ‘food’?” was met with an order to start eating breakfast.
I will occasionally sit down to eat a breakfast; I eat a bowl of cereal on Sundays before teaching my step and yoga classes and I can sometimes be convinced to sit with the girls over a slice of toast while we wait for the bus. Really, though? I prefer to not. A glass of Ovaltine is really all I want to get me through to lunchtime, and “breakfast” is better served at 11:30 than any other time of day.