I’ve never been much of a morning person. Growing up, it always seemed like a contest in my family of who can sleep the latest. I prefer not to have to speak until at least 10 AM. Pre-kids, I used to work late into the night, and sleep until 11. While I thought mornings sucked then, nothing in the world could have prepared me for what to expect in the morning when you have children.
A typical morning in our house consists of my son coming to my side at 6:30. I open my eyes and give him a little smile. His face morphs into a hideous grimace, and he proceeds to whine loudly and beat himself upon the face and head. Why does he do that? Does anyone know how to best handle a child who punches himself? It’s too early for me to think clearly about how to teach him to love himself.
My beautiful daughter wakes up, and thank god she’s happy, but it wasn’t always this way. She used to whine and cry like he does, but she grew out of it. The wonderful thing about small kids is that they do grow out of everything eventually.
We go downstairs and get breakfast, they’re both OK. Then it happens, the question, “is today daycare day?”, and then the answer brings out the beast in everyone. Groaning, screaming, head punching, while Jared and I putter around gathering clothes, brushing hair, putting on shoes with the grimmest of grim faces.
Thankfully, once they’re at daycare, they are fine with it. When I pick them up and ask them if they had a fun day, they both always tell me they did, so I’m not exactly sure what all the fuss is about in the early morning, but I guess it’s just the fact that they’ve inherited my lack of morning love.
On that note, I’m off to haul my butt to work, where I will force myself to speak.