Waking Up

In the quiet of morning, a crow in the trees behind the house wakes me five minutes before the alarm goes off.

I reach, as quietly as possible, willing my arm to stretch just enough to turn off the offensive sound that will shatter the morning silence like a lightbulb hitting the floor. Successfully dodging the piercings of the oldest clock-radio known to man, I lie back and try very, very hard not to let morning fogginess encroach on my awareness.

The peacefully sleeping child beside me, up several times in the night teething, crying, hungry, and clinging, is snoring. 

You wouldn’t know how upset he was, with the angelic look to his face, amiss to the red-faced-tear-streaked squawking anomaly of only a few hours before. The soft, hiccupping misery as he clung to my lap at 2 AM, Advil applied and the rocking chair in full swing, is a distant memory.

The air blows in through the open window, and I catch a scent of tomato plants, dew, and Basil.  Next door, wind chimes are tinkling. I breathe in, and breathe out. Calmness before I start my day is rare, and I relish  in it. For the moment I have no responsibility, no requirements other than to breathe, to listen, to think what I want to think.

One sleepy eye opens, then the other. He looks at me, calm blue eyes, small pursed lips, and a shock of blonde hair tousled from insiting on sleeping with his head crammed into my armpit.  Little hands come out to poke at my nose, my lips, and then a silly smile breaks open. He rises to his knees, and proceeds to try and crawl off the tall, King-sized bed as fast as he can before I catch him and tickle him to abandoned giggles.

It is morning, he is happy, and ready to face the day. Me, I am still tired, still bedraggled, still wishing it was only 4 Am and I could sleep more. But his excitement is infectious.

I think this is how mothers get through sleep deprivation. They draw on their children’s energy by osmosis. They infuse their spirit with the wonderment that each day brings.

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6 thoughts on “Waking Up

  1. It is like they are different children, isn’t it. My daughter was us from 2:30 to 5 am last night and did not want to go to sleep. Today she is all loveliness and engergy. Me, not so much.

    • Ooh yeah… today I am at home, as my son decided to be awake from 1:30 to around 5 as well (must’ve been something in the air here last night eh?). He wasn’t upset though, he just wanted to play… so instead of having a fighting angry child on my hands, I lay on the nursery bed and half-lidded watching him stack blocks for two hours until his lids started to droop, and then we packed off to bed again.

      I have a French mid term this evening so guess what… Mama stays home today to recover…. *thud*

  2. I’m amazed that you were awake enough to remember your early-morning impressions. Sleep deprivation is used as torture by many countries. Only beautiful children could make us submit to it voluntarily.

  3. I love this, it’s a beautiful picture of an early morning. I can very much relate, having a boy of my own with tousled blond hair who both steals my sleep and lends me energy, and loves to poke me in the face and crawl off the bed.

    I keep telling myself that one day, one day I will get sleep again. For now I’m just trying to soak in the time with my little ones.

    • Thanks! That’s just it, we become as much a sponge as they do. Them learning about the world, us revelling in them, and being enriched by the experiences. I wonder sometimes who is the teacher, and who is the student, or at least I realize I never expected to learn so much from my son.

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