A typical morning: My baby boy’s wails blare at 5 a.m. who needs an alarm clock? I have to pee, but I scoot with crossed legs to his crib. A budding mix of Lance Armstrong and sumo wrestler, Cayden swings his powerful legs into a choke hold around my neck as I squeak, “Mommy really needs to go to the bathroom today!” I lift him to the changing table. He immediately flips himself over and attempts a leap off the table to the nearby exercise ball. “You need to wear a diaper! They don’t let naked boys in day care!” He stands full frontal at the bedroom window—smiling at the flowers and our neighbors.

Meanwhile, our 65-pound Siberian husky is pouncing on the gate, howling to be let out. I spring him and sprint to my own bathroom. Thirty seconds later, the dog is pouncing on the door to come back in. Even I can’t pee in 30 seconds!

“Waaahhh!!” my little climber has attempted to scale his exersaucer and failed. “Mommy is coming! It would be nice if Mommy could brush her teeth today.” The dog whines, and I inform him that he is driving me nuts and that we have a right to eat breakfast.

I feel my breasts about to explode, so I drop Cayden into the exersaucer for a quick pumping session. He cries uncontrollably. “If you don’t let mommy pump, you won’t have any food!” time’s up! “Mommy has negative five minutes to shower!”

Things are eerily quiet. “Cayden?” he’s splashing in the dog’s water dish. I pry large chunks of Science Diet from his chipmunk cheeks. “Can Mommy please drink a single cup of coffee again one day?” Close to tears, I lug baby, day care bag, purse, a mug of coffee and a pop-tart out the door. “Please try not to destroy anything!” I yell back to the dog. My morning routine.

One day, though, an a.m. breakthrough occurs. My husband, Jake, offers to get Cayden ready a few mornings a week. The first time, Cayden cries and cries as Jake oozes out of bed, dresses, goes to the bathroom. “Are you reading an entire book in there?! Can you not hear him?!” I shriek. I watch him calmly emerge from the bathroom, hand our son a clean pacifier and a toy and walk away. The crying stops.

At first I’m irritated. But then I observe. He gets ready for work, lets the dog out and warms breakfast, all before attending to our son. Diaper change, outfit on, bottle down, cheerios—while watching the news in the background. He’s out the door on time every day. No yelling. No crying.

Revelation: I can do this! I begin taking my showers at night. I’m dressed and ready for work before I rescue Cayden from the crib. I still don’t have time for coffee, but I’m starting the day with more energy and a more positive attitude. Farewell to frantic and frazzled. Now, when I’m about to inform the dog of my rights, I think of what the King of Cool would do. I smile. Cool.