Once upon a time, many moons ago, I was a late sleeper. A really late sleeper. I could keep my eyes shut tight until noon if I wanted. And I did. Often.
But then I had kids. In the beginning, my kids each robbed me of the all important nighttime sleep. Aubrey and Sydney were both good sleepers early on (and I was much younger with more energy), but I was a zombie for Alli’s entire first year of life. Around nine months old she began sleeping longer stretches. Soon (but not soon enough) she slept thought the night, and for ages she would sleep from 8 PM to 8AM every.single.day.
Not anymore. Nowadays she’s up at the crack of dawn (stealing my morning sleep) which is FINE when I also need to be up early. I’m up by 6 o’clock every school morning with the kids. Fine! Get up early THEN!!! But then there’s the weekends. Why can’t she leave me be on the weekends?
Before I went to bed last night, I set my alarm for 7:00. I wanted to get up, get my day moving, and make cinnamon rolls for everyone to start our fun day! Great plan, right? It’s earlier than I’d like to get moving on the weekend, but later than weekdays and on MY terms.
I guess I should have told Alli about my plan because this morning a loud knocking, a small cough, and a whine woke me up from a weird but interesting dream. “Mom, can I come in there?”
Oh no! I must have missed my alarm! I don’t want to start our fun day LATE!!! I frantically reached for the alarm clock to see just how late I was!!! Hurry! Hurry!
Robbed of 45 minutes once again …
Perhaps THIS week was not the best time to start cutting back my coffee.