I’m not sure if I’ve matured, if my internal timekeeper is broken or if I simply have the cutest alarm clocks in the world, but I have to admit that I’m now a morning person.
A reluctant morning person. But a morning person nonetheless.
I took a position at the paper a few years ago that called for a morning shift, but I’d still sleep until nearly noon on off days, crawling out of bed only after I’d received my 10 or so hours of restful slumber.
My internal clock was still set to nights, which had always been my best time from childhood. Sleeping into the afternoon was common in college (sometimes until 3 p.m.) and even in my early professional years, when I didn’t get home until 2 a.m. or later and would take a few hours thereafter to unwind.
Funny thing about children, though. They know when they want to wake up.
I was transferred to a position that called for more night shifts, but Penny arrived soon thereafter, and she firmly disagreed with my work schedule. She decided she would get up at 7 a.m. or so (and often a couple other times during the night), and if I didn’t get home from work until midnight that was my fault. There was no time to sleep when talking Elmo dolls had to be played with and episodes of “The Backyardigans” had to be watched.
She, at least, generally sleeps until the sun comes up. Many times have I had to navigate the moonlit second floor of our house to grab a hungry Rigby and get him his early-morning meal. After getting his fill, the lucky little guy often falls asleep for a little while, leaving me to hop back into bed just in time to receive my cheery “g’mornin” greeting from Penny (generally accompanied by her ripping the covers off of the bed and “gently” tapping my head to ensure that she’s heard).
This isn’t me complaining (no, seriously). Anyone entering parenthood knows that children are morning creatures, and you have to adapt.
But man, does it take a while.
Some two years after Penny joined our family, I still struggle to wake up every morning. On days I’m home with the kids, I still fall asleep in the chair while feeding Rigby. At night, I still can’t get up to bed fast enough. Heck, if circumstances allow, I’ll slipping in a nap when Penny takes hers.
The truth is, I guess, that night owls never really get used to it. They just wake up because their babies need them to.
You learn how to get by with six (or five, or four) hours of sleep. You compel yourself not to ignore the crying baby in the next room (more difficult is actually waking up enough to realize the crying isn’t just a dream).
You also revert to third-grade sleep habits (I went to bed one recent night at 9:15 p.m., before the sun had completely set), take turns with your spouse sneaking naps in and get as creative as possible to get enough rest.
My aunt offered the good news/bad news of the situation not too long ago: They’ll want to sleep in by the time they’re teenagers, but by then you’ll be unable to do the same.
Oh. Goodie.
In the meantime, 8 a.m. has become a generous gift of extra sleep as opposed to a mid-slumber bathroom break, and I’ve come to expect that if one of the kids wakes up at 5 a.m., they’ll conspire to keep me from returning to bed that morning. I still haven’t been up to see Conan O’Brien to host “The Tonight Show,” and the only time I see the other half of midnight is when one (or both) of the kids can’t sleep.
That’s not a problem I figure to have any time soon. Nor is that pesky inconvenience of sleeping eight hours and feeling fully rested.
But that’s OK. I need to grow up some time, and there are no two better people on this planet for whom I should get my act together.
And since I doubt anyone is going to add four hours to the middle of the night, mornings and I will just have to get along.
Until naptime.
Contact Paul Laneat 693-1000, ext. 116,or paul.lane@gnnewspaper.com.
Family
CRIB NOTES: Late-night ways in nocturnal remission
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