It’s happening. Sooner than I thought it would. Quicker than I expected. Believe it or not, I am becoming a morning person. This morning my alarm went off at 6:30 and I hopped out of bed so fast you’d have thought the sheets were on fire. I was dressed in less than a minute and would probably been ready to run in record time if it hadn’t been for two little stinkers who woke up early and needed their breakfast before I made my escape.
I thought I had a couple of years before my life necessitated such a drastic change. I thought I would be in my 30s at least. I thought it would take months, years even for my internal clock to shift away from the stay-up-late mentality I’ve been accustomed to for the past . . . forever. And yet here we are. I don’t even have to ask myself, “Do you want to have a good day today, or do you want to sleep 20 more minutes?” I just get up and go.
And at 10:30 at night, when I used to say, “The night is young,” I’m silently begging Micah to stop talking, or to brush his teeth already, or to just tuck me in and say goodnight. Stick a fork in me. I’m done.
Maybe it’ll only last until June when we run our marathon, or until Manchild’s little pre-school is finished in May, or until next week when I decide I could use the added strength from pushing the stroller up the hill. Or maybe it’s for real. Maye I’m a morning person.