It’s not yet 6 am, and Jenny is awake. Of course, she wants attention, too, but this time is my time. I get up early so I can have coffee, pray, exercise (well, probably not this morning on that one), check email, and maybe blog…all without an incessant dialogue between me and one or more little person(s) or the drone of background noise. In four months, this time will vanish, and I’ll either be blogging with a baby at my breast or sleeping later to make up for nighttime interuptions. Between now and then, I guard this quiet time sternly. Jen’s been banished to the couch.
It’s not surprising that she’s up early today, or that she was up early yesterday. We’ve been in the car around 6 pm both evenings prior, and she’s fallen fast asleep. Out cold. We just put her to bed for the night. Frequently, if there aren’t sufficient distractions, she falls asleep around that time anyway, generally while in the middle of a meltdown. It’s a messy situation, and it’s obvious she needs more sleep. I could point fingers at a certain older sister who likes to stay up late (and sleep late) and likes to have company in so doing, but instead, I’ll simply state that something is going to change. I’ll go to bed myself and ignore the giggles and chatter still bubbling with an unnatural energy at 10 pm, but I won’t give up my morning’s peace and quiet. And I really won’t accept a cycle that consists of three nights of
yelling at asking little girls to stop talking followed by three mornings of having a someone lying on the floor at my feet complaining about everything from her tummy hurting to how boring it is at 6 am with nobody else awake and how cruel I am for ignoring her (repeat cycle).
This calls for a classic technique: divide and conquer. Somebody is going to be spending their bedtime on mom and dad’s bed.