She was awake at 4:30 A.M. this morning.
First she was out of her blankets.
Then her socks “fell” off.
Then she was screaming bloody murder for no apparent reason. “MOMMAAAAAY!!!”
It’s like she has some sort of internal alarm clock set to Half Past Some Ungodly Hour, A.M., and when the alarm clock goes off, a fiery hot cattle prod pokes her repeatedly until one of us gets up with her. And if we don’t get up right away, her bladder explodes pee all over her pajama pants, which then makes us feel guilty for not rising like a cheery little mama bird at her first tweet. Or squawk.
WHY COULDN’T ALL OF THIS TORTURE HAPPEN AT 7? 7 IS NOT SUCH A HORRIBLE HOUR TO WAKE, IS IT? (I’m yelling because with 5 hours sleep, I lose all sense of social etiquette and yelling at 9 a.m. seems appropriate.)
I can see how this day is going to go and I’m not sorry I’m at work.
