m in pjs feb 2015Most of the time (like 99.9% of the time) I feel so grateful to be who I am, to have the family I have, to have a house that keeps us warm, and to have plenty of good food to keep our bellies full and our bodies healthy.

And then 5 AM comes.

And I wish I was someone else. Anyone else. A friend? A neighbor? Anyone whose children do not insist on waking up at the obscene hour of 5:00 each and every single morning.

It’s not right.

I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it.

My sister and my friends are not asked to suffer in this way. No, their children all wake up at 7 or 8. One friend even has to wake her child up or she’d sleep right through breakfast. Did you catch that? She. Must. Wake. Her. Child. Up.

What is it like to be one of them?

The way I imagine it they get a solid 9 hours every night. They wake up refreshed. Unrumpled. Eyes wide open. Probably not even needing makeup because their skin is glowing.

Meanwhile I look like a bus hit me. My eyes are crusty and bloodshot. I’m regretting staying up until 1 AM to watch 4 episodes of House of Cards. My mouth is thick with saliva and a taste I can’t recognize. Probably wine. I want to crawl on the couch, curled up under a blanket, and turn on a cartoon for the kids.

Ha! You didn’t think they let me do that, did you? Don’t be ridiculous. My eldest is totally game for the cartoon but not the youngest. No she wants to be held for a solid hour before her chubby little feet can touch the floor. Not held while sitting. No. I must hold her and walk around the living room while she slurps her milk and babbles.

I love her. I love being a mom. I’m just tired.

Gotta go. She’s caught me sitting. Time to pick her up, grab a coffee, and pray for the day she’ll sleep until 6AM.

 

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