Over nine years–ten if you consider time in the womb– of sleep deprivation followed by early morning wake ups. Nine years that have included everything from midnight feedings to being stuck in the carpool lane at the elementary school before 8am because apparently no one rides the bus in the rain. Nine years of one child who wakes up so early he literally read the entirety of War of the Worlds before I woke up at 7am, followed by another child who doesn’t know the meaning of sleeping in, even though he’s incredibly grumpy when he wakes up early- which is every. single. day. of. his. life.
Nine years of being forced out of bed at ungodly hours, before the sun comes up, even on days where it makes zero sense to be awake and there’s no need to be– nine years of honestly believing I wouldn’t be able to drag myself to make breakfast and get the kids ready, nine years of going almost completely against my nature as a human being and playing the role of a morning person, and you’d think I’d be used to it. You’d think I’d find a way to thrive in the wee hours of the AM. You’d think it would grow on me. That I would naturally morph from a morning hating curmudgeon to a productive morning person.
Nine years and I still hate mornings just as much as I ever did. Hell, I probably hate them even more. HATE. They make me miserable. I’m not cheerful. I’m not productive. I don’t get things done before the sun rises just because I’m up. I’m up because I have to be up, and I’m grumpy about it. The only difference is that I have kids to witness it. Poor things.
People say parenthood changes you. They’ll tell you it over and over again– that it will change your brain, your feelings, how you react to things, treat people, so on and so forth. It doesn’t. It just makes you even more of who you you already were. It amplifies the tiny things, and pulls out both the best and worst in you.
I’m not a damn morning person. Never was, never will be. I was never patient, having kids certainly didn’t give me any extra of that. I’m STILL not magically good enough at math to help with homework. I’ve never been a pushover, and I never will be, not even with the addition of adorable puppy-dog eyes. If anything, I’ve become even more immune to it.
I honestly think that we become even better, stronger versions of ourselves… and I guess we have our kids to thank.
But let’s agree to NEVER tell them that.
…. and I’ll never, ever be a morning person.
Every. single. time. pic.twitter.com/qxy23khtts
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