I used to get up at 4:55am EVERY DAY. To go to the gym. Yes, every day (much to Tim’s dismay) my alarm would go off five minutes BEFORE 5:00 when it was still very much pitch dark outside and I would put on my gym clothes, throw my work clothes into a bag (half the time forgetting an essential piece like my bra or 1 sock), buy a cup of coffee from the street cart just setting up for the day, jump into a taxi headed for Grand Central Station, take the very first train for Ct (5:37) and arrive at the gym just before 7. I would then work out for an hour, shower, and be sitting in my office ready for the day by 9. So by 9, when everyone else was still rubbing their eyes, drinking their coffee, WAKING UP, I had already been awake for FOUR hours. I’m pretty sure I was unbearable to be around at that point. I mean, I was ready for LUNCH when everyone else was nibbling on their pastries. I did this for years. Even before my job where I had to commute to Ct, I’d get up at 5 to be first into the gym by 5:30. I was crazy. C-ER-AZY!
And today, I complained about how this hour time difference is killing me. I complained that Hannah was in my room ready for the day at 5:00 yesterday since in her body it was wake up time 6:00. I complain every day about how tired I am. How on earth did I do it? Why is it so much harder to get up, make coffee, stay in my pajamas and play with, entertain, mediate, cook for, console 2 kids than it was to run on a treadmill for an hour? Oh right, it’s because the treadmill stopped. I was able to get off. It was a choice. This treadmill I’m on now, doesn’t stop. And if I stop, I get thrown right off onto the floor, into a big messy heap.
I didn’t cherish my sleep pre-kids. I was one of those despicable people who got up by 8 or so on the weekends to make the most of my days (gag). I loved my long days that started with a workout and ended with a bottle of wine (that sounds a little like I drank the bottle alone, which I didn’t – not that there’s anything wrong with that.). When I woke up, I was UP. I didn’t curl back into the covers and try to settle back into sleep. Tim would try to keep me but I’d be bounding up before he trapped me in. I lived in NYC – sleep was a waste with all that excitement steps outside my door. There was brunch to be eaten, shopping to be done, street fairs to attack. And today, what I wouldn’t do for a day to just stay in bed. All. Day. And what I wouldn’t do for a daughter who was NOT like her mom and liked to stay in bed, curl back into the covers and go back. to. sleep.
This morning at 6:01 she came running into our room shouting, “Do you notice anything different about me mommy?”. Trying to pry my eyes open and see in the dark at the same time I said, “uummmm, you changed your pajamas?” My first guess was that she peed in her pajamas and needed to change them but then I realized that that would have included more crying and fussing than was standing before me. “No, mommy, I’m DRESSED! And here…” she stated as she shoved a folded piece of paper into my hands. “It’s a card for you with a note inside.” I looked at the multicolored (as far as I could tell in the dim light from my clock), beautifully designed, piece of paper folded in half and I opened it up to read, “I love Mommy”. “And Here…” she said again as she pushed another piece of paper under my nose. Another “card” with an H and an L on the front. “Luke and I really love you.” she said with a smile.
“What time did you get up???” I managed as I pushed myself upright.
“I don’t know, something with a 5 at the beginning, so I got dressed, went potty, made these two cards and read a few books to Ellie and THEN I saw it said 6:00 so I knew it was ok to come see you.”
And now, as I lay here, struggling to keep my eyes open at 9:28 (feels like 10:28) I realize that when you’re wired to be a “morning person”, you just are. No clock, time change, time zone, late night can stop you. So I’m going to stop complaining and use it to my advantage. No, I’m not going to start working out again. I’m going to have Hannah start making my Chanukah cards. Nothing wrong with free labor.