I slept in one last time this morning. School starts tomorrow.
This is the first summer in 10 years I’ve been able to do this in. In the past, the boys weren’t old enough to be awake in the house unattended, they needed help getting breakfast, or they simply wouldn’t stay out of my bedroom.
Now the boys can get their own breakfast, entertain themselves and even police themselves. The later might be questionable, but I count it a success that they’ve neither maimed themselves, murdered each other or burned the house down while I slumbered.
Initially, I felt guilty about sleeping in. Often my husband was awake and off to work before I even rolled over. The boys had to pour their own bowls of cereal. Some mornings they ate milk and cookies for breakfast. They think I’m unaware of that.
Then I thought about how I got up three or four times a night to feed them as babies. And I thought about how Wade didn’t sleep through the night until he was almost three. I was an empty shell of a mombie by the time he finally did. I thought about the nights I dragged myself out of bed to clean up vomit or administer medicine to a feverish child.
I recalled the nights they woke me after a bad dream and crawled into bed next to me, keeping me awake while they tossed, turned and stuck their feet in my face. I remembered how until he started kindergarten, David woke up at the bright crack of 5:30 every morning. My husband is a wonderful, helpful father in many ways, but when the boys were small, except on a few occasions, he snoozed peacefully through all the night-time ruckus.
So, I don’t feel bad about sleeping in this summer. I took back a few of those hours lost during the long nights of rocking and pacing the hallway.
If you were up all night with newborn baby, hang in there Sister. Your time is coming. I really does get better.
But I’m not sure what’s going to happen tomorrow morning. It will be brutal when the alarm goes off at 6:30.
The mombie may rise again.