The early-morning wake-up (again… and again…)
My day started this morning, as it does every morning, with the pitter-patter of three-year-old feet on the landing. Then a thunk as a water cup was plonked on my bedside table, followed by a small elephant clambering over my shins as DS climbed over me into the middle of our bed.
In that respect, today was no different to any other day.
Only today, I noticed that, as the little visitor arrived, it was still dark.
“DS! It’s still night-time!” I hissed, trying not to wake DH. You lie still and go to sleep! Or else!”
“Yes, mummy,” he whispered, settling his head on my pillow and hugging his teddy.
Looking back, I don’t know why I thought a boy who’d woken up at 4.30am was going to go back to sleep when it’s perfectly usual for him sometimes to wake up at 5.15am. But, somehow, optimist that I am, I was hoping that, if he was ensconced in our cosy bed, he might actually sleep till 7am, which would give me enough sleep to make me feel like a new person.
With hindsight, what I should have done is put him straight back into his bed, tie him in it, turn off the monitor and lock his bedroom door.
Then I might have had a chance of tackling the day with some degree of competence instead of driving to the wrong summer school at 9am this morning then getting in a wiggle because I was too tired to figure out how to get back to the right one.
Anyway, as I’ve told DS: One more morning like that and he’s on his own. I’m checking into a hotel. Seriously.