When I was working, I woke up at 5:30 or 6 am, every morning, without fail, without alarm clock. It was my time, my time to read my coffee, drink my email, and open my eyes. The boys would come stumbling down the stairs at 7:15, and I would start yelling for Eddy to wake up at 7:30. Those ninety minutes were what made the difference between a grumpy, insane day, and just an insane day.
Now that I’m on maternity leave, and unable to sleep at night thanks to somebody’s feet in my ribs, I find myself sleeping later and later each morning. Sometimes I’m able to sneak out of bed and down the stairs by myself, but nine times out of ten a certain three year old’s bat like hearing and finely tuned sense of radar means that my tiptoeing down the steps is quickly followed by a galumping and high pitched ‘We awake Mama!’.
I’ve gotten better at serving breakfast with my eyes closed, and the boys have gotten better about respecting the idea that Mama needs to drink her coffee and read her email before any negotiations start. Now if only I could get Eddy to be better about getting out of bed by himself, my mornings would be complete.