I am not a morning person, never have been, never will be.  When younger, I could spend entire days in bed, waking only long enough to stuff my face and then return to bed.  I would spend entire mornings lying in my nest, pondering what I would do that day, often not emerging until well after morning (and afternoon) had past.

Never have I greeted the morning with thankfulness and joy.  I am not eager to leave the cozy sanctuary of my bed to start accomplishing things, taking joy in checking off my ever so long to-do list.  Instead, I great the morning with an offended grumpiness that I am being forced to start yet another day in which I will complete the same thankless tasks as the day before, and the one before that, and the one before that... 

I wish that I could wake the same way as my children.  I would love to stir out of slumber, open my eyes and immediately pop up, ready and willing take on whatever challenges and adventures face them. Maybe I would be this way if I had a promise of a nap happening at any time, if someone were around to cook me the breakfast of my choice, dress me, entertain me and then soothe me back to sleep.

The problem with this theory is that my children aren’t necessarily morning people either.  Even though they wake with the dawn, they do not do so with a graceful spirit. They wake because it is simply their biological programming and they feel it is their duty to start their day simply because they have awoken.  I have explained, somewhat desperately, many times that just because its morning time, they don’t have to get up, (a concept that is often met with blank stares of non-comprehension).

Every morning the kids come into my bed, place themselves securely in between their dad and me and proceed to fight, giggle and roll around spastically. While I would love to treasure this time together as a family, for I know these days won’t last forever, I don’t—I despise them. 

Who wants to be woken up to little feet kicking you in the back, or the panicked cries of “I can’t find my niecey”  (A phrase that creates a whole different pile of complaints I have against pacifiers, that I will save for another time…)

If my kids were to come into my bed to curl up cozily with me allowing us all to gain a few blissful more hours of sleep, I’d happily trek into their rooms and carry them into bed with me.  But the reality is it’s just a ploy.  They know that if they stay in their rooms, playing quietly I might never get up, so they have conspired and come up with the quickest route to get their cranky little needs met.

A typical day starts at 6 am, I have just gotten the babies (who sleep in a crib ½ ft away from my bed) back to sleep after changing diapers and shoving yet another bottle in their mouths.  I snuggle back down into my covers, adjusting my pillow just so.  As I start to fade back to my happy place, I hear the familiar clomp, clomp, clomp of my son walking to my room. Blessed with my graceful mannerisms, he clambers into bed, punching Daddy in the stomach and crushing my leg with his entire 32 pounds. 

A snuggler by nature he is willing to lie quietly for a while. I wrap his blanky around his head and snuggle in.  We sit in blissful silence for about 2.3 minutes until a herd of wild elephants are heard, signaling that Sister is migrating towards our bed.  Heaving her 42 pounds on top of all three of us, she starts screaming that she wants to sleep next to Daddy which wakes the babies.  At this point there are four people in our bed and two an arms length away jumping and waving hi.  On certain days this sight tickles my fancy, but more often than not, I began ordering people out of my room, declaring that no child will ever set foot in my bed again and other ever so rational rules that I will never enforce, only to be ignored while all four kids bounce happily in the babies crib.

Resigned, I sigh, heave my weary bones out of bed, stumble into my slippers and hideous, yet delightful, Froggy bathrobe armed to start another day.

I’m greatly looking forward to the teenage years when my children want to sleep the day away.  While I realize that by then I will be unable to sleep past eight, the idea of them shedding their morning person biology and me, having gained it, waking them up by jumping on their bed, demanding breakfast is enough to make me giddy with anticipation.  Hormones and rebellious behavior be damned, teenage years, I say, bring it on!