It’s late. It’s dark out. I’ve been awake too long.

The kid wakes up around 6 am. Sometimes earlier, rarely later.

I’ve always been a night person, and I tend to be most productive in the evenings. I have trouble getting to sleep because my brain just keeps going.

I’m much better at sleeping late than going to bed early.

I lie here trying to convince myself to just be done, put the computer down, leave the book, just go to sleep, and I remind myself that I will be tired in the morning and it won’t matter to her. She’s going to come in here and want me to be on right away.

Morning goofy
Morning goofy

And every time I wish she would just sleep later, or play by herself in her room until it got light out, every time I think of hearing those little feet running across the carpet, feeling her climbing up next to me.

“Mommy? Mooom? Can we watch TV?”

“Can I have something to eat? And milk?”

“Can we go downstairs?”

She’s so cheerful and cuddly and lovely that even when I hate waking up I love it.

She has a special talent.

My heart
My heart


As horrible as bedtime might have been the night before, it all goes away with those little footsteps and a whispered “Mommy?”


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