I feel like everything I've written up until this point has been a lie.
Okay, a lie is kind of a strong term. I really am an early bird. I'm HUGE on lists. Getting ready the night before is important in my house. But lately? Lately is just a different story.
"Lately" kind of encompasses, say, the last month. See, my baby boy is due in late May/early June time frame, so I can't really say that I'm up (willingly) at the crack of dawn. I don't bounce out of bed. (I roll, with much grunting and moaning and anger.) I'm not a ball of sunshine.
My husband - who is a godsend of a husband, truly - understands this. The nature of my job has me at the office more than an hour before he's awake during the work week, so he allows me to sleep in on the weekends.
AND Y'ALL, THIS IS MY SACRED TIME.
I love my kids. I love being a mom. I love everything about it. But I DEPLORE pregnancy, and my sacred time? Is just that. There is no reason for you to wake me up. NO REASON.
Are you bleeding from the head?
Has there been amputation of a limb?
WHERE IS YOUR FATHER?
These questions are what you'll be riddled with if you dare enter my bedroom on a weekend morning. I felt guilty about this during my second trimester, but then I realized that I raised these children. I've given up COUNTLESS nights of sleep for them. I've rocked babies through ear infections, stomach flu, and night terrors. I've paced the house with colic, made bottles at all hours of the night, and run to the all-night pharmacy for cough medicine. I'VE PAID MY DUES, IS WHAT I'M SAYING HERE.
So if I want to sleep in for an hour on Saturday morning?
DO NOT DISTURB.
Do you have sacred time in your bedroom? Is it bedtime or early morning?