My first baby. Oh how I loved that boy. Sure, the first several months were hard with him waking up several times a night. But it was worth it.
It wasn’t long before he was sleeping through the night. And aside from when he had a cold – or worse – he usually slept all night long.
All night long meaning until 5:30 or 6:00 in the morning.
But I didn’t mind. Much.
I loved him and it was worth it.
More time to be with my precious little boy.
When he started school at age five, things changed. He’d sleep until 7:00 in the morning most days. Sometimes, even longer. It was perfect. I was going to get up then anyway. Except for on the weekends. But my time would come, I knew.
Andrew and I would alternate weekends that we’d get a chance to sleep until 9:00 or so.
And it wasn’t all that long before my kid (and his subsequent 2 brothers) could get up on a Saturday morning, pour some cereal and chillax on their own until we woke up from the sound of the coffee grinding at 9:00 am.
Pure coffee-aroma heaven.
And that, my friends, was reality for quite some time. I loved it. Basked in it. Appreciated it.
Fast forward to 2010.
My almost 15 year old gets himself up at 6:00 am every weekday for school. By himself. He gets dressed, makes breakfast, packs his lunch and is ready to go to school by 6:45.
On the weekends, he’s a slacker.
I have to wake him up, cajole him… and yes, maybe even threaten him (well, at least explain the consequences) to get his butt out of bed.
Yes, it’s unfair that we have house showings and have to clean on Saturday mornings. And I know he’d prefer not to have religious school at 9:00 on Sunday mornings.
But such is life.
So it occurred to me the other morning as I suggested he get up that it’s an interesting role reversal.
He woke me up for years when I wanted to sleep.
Now, it’s my turn.
Payback’s a bitch.