Back before the hills got dusty, when I still had the luxury of deciding how early I would get up and what I would do in the morning, I observed that any amount of time I allowed for getting ready was exactly enough. If I overslept and only had 20 minutes, I could be ready in 20 minutes. If I got up early and found myself with two hours, I was just as likely to be trying to put my shoes on as I ran out to my car as if it were a 20 minute day. The time required somehow always shrank or grew precisely to fit the time available.
This is how it's gone for me kidwise, too. When the hills had just started to get dusty, we had one kid, and I don't remember any less scrambling in our lives. One kid is as much reason for a littered house, rolling in late, or a sleepless night as five kids. I've rarely been as tired as I was with one kid (who, admittedly, slept less than most adults), or spread as thin as I was with two. Five, for me, is much easier than two. I'm not saying there are no differences between the few-kid house and the many-kid house, just that around here it hasn't felt like as wide a gulf as people seem to think. A kid complicates things, period. After that we're just arguing about how many fit in a minivan.