Zero Hour, Five A.M.

Between 5 and 6 a.m. I am the most popular girl in our house. Every morning, in this hour right before the sun comes up, the baby wakes calling "Mama", at first cute and endearing, but rapidly morphing into a primal scream. After I go to the baby, pick up the baby and start nursing the baby, then, and only then, do BOTH the 3 1/2 year old and the 2 dogs start vying for my attention with a chorus of whining. Everyone needs me. Right now. RIGHT NOW.

As someone who is not a morning person, this is not exactly the best way to start the day. And when I say I'm not a morning person, I am being kind. When I was in high school, my father used to find me lying on the floor in the fetal position, after I got out of bed, often for 20-30 minutes, because I couldn't rally to get myself dressed just yet. I would fortify myself a sugar rush provided by pop tarts or donuts back in those days because my parents didn't drink coffee and it didn't occur to me to buy it and make it myself.

Grad school and, well, life, taught me about coffee and the power of allowing time in the morning to just be, wake up slowly and greet the day on my terms. But babies and boys and dogs have just not got the memo. No matter how many time I patiently try to explain it to all of them. Babies and boys and dogs all not the best listeners.

So here I am. Desperately craving donuts. Or pop tarts. Or some kind of delicious, easy fast food breakfast that tastes like comfort and doesn't require me to DO anything but eat it. Because everyone around here already NEEDS me. I don't want my breakfast to ask a lot of me, too.

But a I take a breath, pour myself a cup of coffee and warm up this pear baked oatmeal I cleverly managed to make earlier in the week and keep in the fridge for this very moment.  



Score 1 for being a grown up.