Lately I’ve been getting up at 5 a.m. – not because I want to, mind, but because the Winston is determinedly up at that hour. Not so long ago he would cuddle for an hour in bed next to me, allowing me a few more precious minutes of sleep, but not any longer. The boy is up and no amount of snuggling, cuddling, nursing, whispered cursing or threatening is going to get him to lie still for one more moment.
So, I’m up too. Now, a reasonable person right now is asking, “Why isn’t your husband getting up once in a while and letting you sleep in?” – to which I say, “Brilliant question!” But I have no answer. I suspect is the “penis rule” – you know, the one that means they have to hold the remote control, dress the kids in dirty clothes, consider mowing the lawn once every 10 days a major contribution to the household chores, can’t figure out how to open the dishwasher to put in dirty dishes….I think you get the drift. The “penis rule” also seems to cover both hearing the baby cry at ungodly hours and getting up at an equally ungodly hour with a crying baby.
But actually, I’m okay with this ungodly hour thing. Because it is an amazing ace in the hole. I’ve got this routine….nurse Winston, pull on some over-stretched Lulu Lemon things, grab sneakers, the dog and Winston and head out into the dawn for a walk. Summer had finally arrived to our sub-arctic mosquito swamp so it is lovely – and we walk through the parks down to the river and back into the neighbourhood to do some hills. Winston is happy in the stroller playing with his toes and blowing raspberries at any passing joggers, Fan is happy sniffing the air and running through the long grass, and I am contentedly deluding myself that this walk is going to help firm up my stomach and tighten my ass. Best of all though is that when we get back home, the house is still dark and quiet….I can have coffee, read the paper, eat breakfast and absently poke yoghurt into Winston’s mouth in relative peace and quiet.
No histrionic Topher, no husband banging through cupboards looking for what is right in front of his nose, no mother-in-law singing out inane non sequiturs, no father-in-law standing about in his socks, waiting for someone to notice he is hungry so the food can magically appear in front of him…. just Winston and I munching and slurping away. And for all this, this getting up early, enjoying the fresh air, a peaceful breakfast alone, I get an added bonus….everyone thinks I am a saint. A martyr. A gasp – good mother! Genius. Now I just need to figure out what my party trick is going to be this January when it is minus 30 outside…..
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Don't worry, come January you won't need this latest trick. L'il Winston will have moved on and replaced this challenge with a tougher one. And perhaps by that age, you will have trained him to entertain himself when he wakes up?
ReplyDeleteBut really. Kudos to you. I remember exactly when the refusal to cuddle with me after nursing at 5 am came. I/we never dealt with it well. Kieran would climb all over our headboard, start to whimper, and soon scream. We (actually Jeff, b/c there was a vagina rule in our house when I worked full time) would get up and play with him loudly at the foot of the bed, which actually served to keep me from sleeping, so I suppose the penis rule was still in effect, in some sense.
But anyway, I think your deal with Winston is a win win. Excellent, brilliant. And play your martyr card hard. Don't ever let anyone know it's not a great sacrifice. And meanwhile you'll be getting your figure back, too. Everyone will think you're superwoman.
And I'm also impressed that you can read the paper while tending to Winston. I always felt so put upon, I think I never managed to take care of myself when I had to deal with a baby in the night or early morning . . . .
Read the paper, check my blackberry, shovel food into the baby, unload the dishwasher AND wipe up the dog's drool from the kitchen floor....my own version of multitasking. As long as no one expects me to do any of it well, or all the time, then I'm good. I can remember trying to nurse Topher and do emails on my blackberry...he would get so cross! But it just seemed like such an inefficient use of my time to just be sitting there, hands free, mind racing, laundry to fold, lists to make, emails to answer....cute as he was/is, I could only gaze adoringly at him for so long at a stretch.
ReplyDeleteBut you are right - I will continue to enjoy martyrdom as long as I can. Although maybe I'll take up cross country skiing for the winter...how bad can it be at 5 a.m in January anyway?