Introvert that I am, it's really important to me that I wake up early enough to take care of my stuff before the day's responsibilities encroach on my schedule. For awhile, things were going pretty smoothly. Most nights, with the kids both in bed by 8, I'd myself retire to bed to read for an hour or until I got sleepy, waking at 4 to have my personal time with God and get in my exercising before dad duty commenced.
5 to 6 in the morning was a particularly sacred time for me, whether sneaking a brisk outdoor run in or doing push-ups and sit-ups while catching up on personal emails and sports websites. By the time I was done, showered, and dressed, I was ready for the day and for my two early risers, who were usually both up by 6ish, Jada sometimes up sooner but able to entertain herself if I wasn't ready for her.
But this week, for three mornings in a row, Aaron announced his arrival into the land of the awake by 5 or before, and within minutes was not only awake and loud but cranky and crying. I grumbled each morning at this intrusion into my exercise and personal time; even as I knew these were precious times that I could use to bond with my son, I felt cheated out of this little sliver of joy, and wondered aloud how early I'd now have to wake up if I wanted some time to myself.
Of course, no sooner had Aaron done this three mornings in a row than the very next morning, he slept in until 7:20; and I actually had to wake him up lest I be late for work, which meant that he was especially crabby towards me. I simply cannot figure the little guy out. Although I love him. But I love him more if I don't have to see him until after 6 in the morning.