“Ash! Getttttt up!” My mom’s Minnesotan accent booms from the bottom step. She tried most everything to get me out of bed. One house of ours had an intercom system and she tried playing music through the speakers. She sent the dog in to lick me. For about a week she tried spraying water in my face with a misting spray bottle. In high school I would sometimes go turn the shower on, then hop back in bed to make her think I woke up. Sorry, mom.
I hate waking up in the morning and always have. I was late for my 8:00 classes throughout college (now 8:00 seems like sleeping in). Once I’m up, I’m very productive and even delight in the stillness and silence of the early morning. But swinging that right foot out of the covers often feels impossible. It’s even harder for me to get out of bed in the winter. The blankets are just too warm and snuggly.
So this morning when I heard Finn coughing and babbling on the monitor, I tried to convince Joey it was his morning to get up instead of mine. He wasn’t fooled. But once my eyes adjust and the dog and the baby have been fed and I settle on the couch to snuggle with this fuzzy headed child of mine, I’m convinced that waking up to him is a blessing, no matter the hour on the clock.