I lay in bed, wrapped up in my comforter, trying to ignore the noises coming from the bedrooms down the hall. They aren't sad noises, just awake noises. I pry my eyes open and glance at the clock. It's 6:45 a.m.
All the books and websites tell me that my children should be sleeping until at least 8 a.m. because that's how many hours of sleep they supposedly need. They've obviously never met MY children.
I close my eyes and lay there for a few minutes. There have been times that I've considered being the super-organized mom. You know, the mom that gets out of bed at six and is all ready for the day before the children are awake. That thought usually lasts a whole five seconds. I like my sleep and I dread the day that my oldest goes to Junior High. He will just have to be self-sufficient because anything before 7 a.m. is still the middle of the night in my book.
I hear O telling Don Juan to get out of her room. I know there's no going back now. She's definitely awake and she hasn't learned that Mom doesn't get up early. Then I hear a little squeak that I know is E.
I groan a little and sit up. I rub my face, stretch and start thinking about my day. It's Friday, and there's not much on the agenda. But I've been under the weather all week and the house needs some TLC now that I'm feeling better. I sigh and reach for my glasses that are on the end table next to the clock.
I walk down the hall, wondering how in the world E could be awake already. I am well aware of how little she slept during the night. I peek into O's room. She grins, knowing she has permission to get out of bed now. I walk into E's room and peek into her crib and I am immediately rewarded for all my hard work. E sees me and instantly smiles. I pick her up and hug her to me. I smell her head and kiss her little cheeks. Who needs sleep anyway?