Gooooooooood Morning!

I am so happy. So, so happy!

For the past 3 days, the punk has been getting up between 5:30-5:45 am.

Not. Good.

I have never, ever been a morning person. My childhood friends know this. I was always the one at the slumber party who, when everyone else was waking up and whispering, giggling, and getting up to enjoy their Cocoa Puffs, retracted back into my sleeping bag, put my hand over my ears, and huffily went back to sleep until their mom came in with the vacuum. Before I had the punk, a co-worker told me that becoming a mom would turn me into a morning person because the wee hours are the only time a mom has to herself. Not so. Guess what. The hours after the kid goes to bed are precious adult hours too, and I will take the dark stillness of midnight to the dark stillness of 5 am any day.

So, when the punk got up at 5:30 on Wednesday, I led him back into his room, told him it was too early to get up, and went back to bed, only to have him come waltzing back into my room a few minutes later. I figured it was a fluke and wouldn't happen again. Then it happened again on Thursday. And again on Friday. This is not acceptable. I have less than two weeks of life without a newborn and I refuse to awake before the sun on these last precious days.

So last night, I put a digital clock in the punk's room. As he was going to bed, my man and I showed him the numbers on the clock and compared those numbers to the "7:00" I had written on a piece of paper. We told him that when the first number on the clock was 7, that's when he could get out of bed. Then we crossed our fingers and turned off his light.

This morning, I heard his door open and his little pajama-clad feet padding into my room. It was 4:00 am. I asked him what number was on his clock and we went into his room to investigate. When he saw that his clock had a 4 on it, he got back in bed with a reminder to watch for a 7. I went back to bed, fully expecting to see him again in 20 minutes.

The clock says "4:10."

But the next time I opened my eyes, I noticed the faint glow of dawn coming in through the blinds. Could it be? I checked the time: 6:30! My man got up to work out and I lay in bed to bask in the "late" hour. I was so thoroughly rested that I didn't even go back to sleep. I just lay there smiling, and then turned on my light and read for a little while.

At 7:30, the punk came walking out of his room, holding proudly the paper that said, "7:00." And there was much rejoicing.