For months now, I’ve successfully managed to go through the day on a minimum of four to six hours of sleep. Lately, Hunter’s teething has got me up in all spurts of the night. Most of the time, I don’t mind as I don’t get to see him during the day, any chance him is all worth while. Recently, we have been awaken by his loud wail. A wail so loud that I am trained to pounce out of bed. Mostly, he just wants his plug back in his mouth or a bottle which I have all ready to go.
For the past five years, I’ve become this morning person. For instance, sleeping in past eight thirty in the morning is like struggling to do a hundred push ups. In turn, yours truly takes pride in sharing my morning with my loved ones.
“Hiya! Whatcha doin?”
“I knew it was you, only you would call before eight.” My sister incoherently tousled by the phone call, “you woke your nieces you know.”
“Sorry, I just wanted to wish you a good morning! It’s a beautiful day out there, you should get up!” As I lay in bed comfy in my 2005 Christmas pajamas with husband, Chloe, and Hunter, “alright, I’ll call you later go back to bed.” I giggled and made a mad dash dial for fellow victims. I pounced on friends that couldn’t see past ten o’clock in the morning. They never answered the phone which left me no choice, but to sing them one of my personalized jingles usually in the form of a seventies tune like Close to You by the Carpenters, “Why are you sleeping like a bear? Are you hung over? Do you care? Just like me, I long to be, up earleeeeeee. Click.” I would go on chorus over chorus until their voicemail cuts me off.
“Why do you do that?” My husband always shook his head in dismay.
“It’s funny.” I always shrug with delight.
On Saturday mornings, we’d go for an early work out at the gym or to the Ferry Building and hit the farmers market before the late risers got there. Well, this particular Saturday I rushed the family out the door at eight to get to the farmers market. After a few weeks of over cast and wind chills, we were exhilarated to be up early on a beautiful sunny day. As Shane stood in line for a breakfast sandwich at Rose Pistola’s stand, I waited for a lushes cup of blue bottle coffee. Shane had Hunter in the stroller as he began crying, I quickly went for the bottle in the diaper bag. My heart was in my throat, the bottle was no where to be found. I retraced my steps and realized I left the bottle on the counter to open the back door for Chloe. At this point, Hunter is wailing like his big toe’s been snapped off and he has thrown his yellow plug on the ground. Rats!
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