“Mom?” Pause. “Mom! Mommy!” “Mama!,” a higher voice pitches in. “MOOOOOOM!”
“I’m hungry.” “More Dora!,” screams the little one.
And so starts my day.
I’ve never been a morning person. Even when forced by the Navy to get up at 4:30 am to go workout in a dark field somewhere, I have never gotten used to it. Yes, my mornings start waaaaaay earlier than they ever did before I had kids (except when I was in the Navy!), and if I get to sleep until 8 am (or even 7:30 am), I consider that sleeping in. But no matter what time I am woken from my comfortable slumber in my nice warm bed, I am completely out of it. My brain just doesn’t work until the afternoon is approaching.
Since my husband leaves for work at 6:30 am, he usually puts on Netflix streaming and starts an episode of Dora the Explorer before he leaves. This gives me exactly 24 minutes more to sleep in the morning. Because the second my kids aren’t being entertained, they come a knock, knock, knocking on my bedroom door. Or more accurately, standing at the kiddie gate we have blocking access to our bedroom, yelling my name and demanding unreasonable things, like, say, breakfast and adult supervision.
A kiddie gate, you say? Let me enlighten you. My daughter is a horrible sleeper. Yes, she is 4. But this means nothing, apparently. She has never been a good sleeper. And since she loves nothing more than company at all times, whenever she wakes up, she wants us to wake up too. Usually this comes in the form of her creeping silently into your dark bedroom and then standing next to the bed, breathing on you until you wake up with a little face only inches from your own. Terrifying, you say? Oh yeah. Caylie learned really fast to stand on daddy’s side of the bed because when mommy wakes up startled, she flails her arms around and screams like she’s trying out for a bad horror movie. And since my husband was getting startled awake multiple times a night by our little insomniac, he put up a gate so we can rest easy that no one will be breathing on our faces at night except each other.
So I shuffle out of bed each morning, and like a zombie in search of paramedics, go straight for the coffee pot. It’s decaf these days, but habits are hard to break. Breakfast gets made for my shiny, happy, morning people and I exist in a fog while my hyped up children dance around the kitchen eating breakfast. And maybe in a few hours my brain will actually wake up. What was the point of this blog, you ask? How should I know; it’s only 9 o’clock in the morning!