A Morning in the Life of a Mom

I open my eyes, but it's still dark. A little baby sleep noise jumps out of the monitor.

Oh, that's why I'm awake.

Mr. T rolls out of bed and disappears behind the bathroom door. I sneak a look at the clock. 6:30 shoots back at me like a laser.

Relief. Not time to get up yet.

Before closing my eyes, I wait a few beats to hear if T Junior makes any more noise. I listen better with my eyes open.

Mr. T comes back to bed. My turn. I really don't want to get up, but my body aches, I feel a headache brewing and I really have to pee, so I hobble to the bathroom. I can feel my hair standing up in one of those morning "updos" courtesy of my pillow.

While I'm walking through the bathroom, I decide to get up now. I would like a few minutes to myself to eat my two buttery Eggos warm, drink hot coffee and criticize the morning news team with whom I have a love-hate relationship. Plus, I'd like to write before the day cuts it out of my schedule.

I wrestle on my pajama pants, grab my notebook and go downstairs. I automatically switch on the lamp and the TV. It's a commercial for a discount jewelry store. The man's harsh voice cuts through the morning hush of my living room. "Diamond-stud earrings! Ninety-nine, ninety-nine!"

How rude.

I turn the volume down to 5. Why does everything seem louder at this hour? The toaster, the Tassimo, me. As I'm waiting for my Eggos to get crispy, I catch a glimpse of my morning look in the black kitchen window. Awesome. My Eggos pop up. I jump.

Shh.

I push the button on the Tassimo. It breaks out into rapid-fire coffee-brewing bursts. A machine gun that spits hot caffeine into a cup instead of bullets.

Please don't wake everyone up, coffee machine.

I get the best seat on the couch. It's the one on the end so there's a wide, flat arm where I can put my morning feast, and it's the closest spot to the TV. Seems there's been a mixup on the instruction sheets included in Cranium, a family board game made by a local company. Anyone trying to reach Cranium via the help number will get connected to an adult phone line instead. Then, it's one last "quick check of the weather" (fog all day, sun for some), and the locals say goodbye to make way for "Good Morning, America."

I press mute, tuck my legs under me and place my notebook on my lap. I'm excited to write. Possibilities. Pen to paper. Here I go.

Wait. Did I hear something?

I look all the way across the living room and through the kitchen to the top of the refrigerator. The baby monitor. Did it say something?

It did. It said, "A-Da."

My ideas about writing disappear in a cartoon poof of smoke. I watch the monitor and hold my breath. Will he go back to sleep?

I hear...silence.

Wait.

No, he's playing. He's up. That's OK. He's such a good boy.

Thank you for being a good sleeper. Thank you for giving me a few minutes to be alone. And even though I like writing, I don't mind that I don't get to do it now (or much at all at this hour) because I get something even better every morning.

I get rosy cheeks, sleepy grins, open-mouth kisses, warm milk breath, squeeze-around-the-neck hugs and innocent squeals of delight. This is what moms get up for.