Good Morning, Sunshine!

When I was younger, I hated the morning. I am a night owl by nature. I worked second shift and it was nothing to be up until 3 or 4 in the morning watching tv or talking to the hubz. There wasn't really a need to go to bed at a "reasonable" time.

Somewhere along the line, I got older and my life shifted to a sunshine friendly sort of lifestyle. It was somewhere around the fall of 2003 when I found out that I was expecting and traded in my cushy, hourly 3-11 job for a salaried managerial position. I made my own schedule with the exception that I had to come in at 7AM twice a week.

It didn't take long before I adjusted to seeing the sun rise, and 3AM seemed more like a punishment than a privilege. After Kyan came in 2005, life changed again, and I became Zombie Mom. I was up around 20 hours a day (not in a cool way like college). I remember long hours, sitting cross-legged ("Indian-style" is out these days) with Ky in my lap. I would sing everything my sleep deprived brain could think of from Mary Had a Little Lamb to The Night Chicago Died (Paper Lace, look into it).

More than one of those nights ended in my crying, asking my little man why he hated me and if he was trying to kill me. On those nights, a groggy Brock would scoop him up and let me pass out, or I'd take Ky downstairs and call my mom. My mom keeps a crazy schedule and is usually awake drinking coffee and journaling around 3 or 4AM. I would cry and ask her how she survived 3 babies and we'd always end up laughing. It always made me feel better.

Fast forward to March 1, 2010 (Happy Birthday, Jensen Ackles (YUM)), and I am a stay-at-home mom to a 4-year-old, hyperactive preschooler, a 2-year-old who is obsessed with He-Man and pouring things on the floor, and a 10-month-old who's trademarked hair-pull head-butt combo would put any pro-wrestler to shame.

Days are a blur when you're chasing Alvin, Simon and Theodore around the house. Evenings are comprised of dinner, library books, super-splashy bathtimes and a sometimes not-so-pleasant bedtime routine.

But, oh, the mornings. 5AM is as quiet and deliciously peaceful as a snowfall. I creep around finishing up dishes or laundry, usually both, sipping my coffee, and cherishing the solitude. Some mornings, I call my mom and we trade funny stories or offer each other a slice of encouragement when it's needed. We still end up laughing. On the rare occasion, Brock will get up (usually with a fussy Devi's help) and we will sit and chat, uninterrupted until it's time to start our day.

Now that I'm older, I love the morning. I've turned into a full-on daywalker (man, I love the movie Blade). My whole world has changed. I suppose you could say it's as different as night and day.