Its 5am do you know where your coffee is?
I do. I know where my coffee is.
I have been awake since 4am. My mind churning with the millions of little puzzle pieces I need to fit together before the day is through. I was torn, between attempting to slowly clear my mind and returning to sleep; and just getting up and begin checking things off my list.
Through total inaction I compromised.
I lay there in bed, my body still, my mind not so much. Husband snoring softly in his dreams. Marie the Cat, purring rather loudly while laying across my chest and kneading her prissy paws close to my face, reminding me I am her servant & must feed her as soon as I start to stir.
The lists and things go on inside my head. My body is quiet but my mind is not.
Now, I am propped up on the couch. Its 5am. A few lights are on. Hot coffee next to me. Marie the cat is too. I can't hear N's sounds of slumber, but sweet Bella dog is snoozing snoring on the floor and the house seems quiet. But it is not.
Despite the loud buzzing in my brain telling me to be a bit more active and not so reflective, it is these early morning encounters with my ego and my self that I love so much. For me, the day doesn't really start until the Boys wake, so this is just a few milliseconds, of the millions of minutes I cram into the day, that is just. for. me... Sort of. If I didn't have to share it with so many other little thoughts and lists and TO DOs.
When I was in my 20's this early morning time was ABSOLUTELY sacred to me. You couldn't touch me or talk to me before 7am. I look back now and think, wow, I lost a lot of time being super rigid about my routine. My morning routine was vaguely obsessive. Well, considering I didn't want anyone to talk to me before 7am, including gentlemen who spent the night, most likely means it was more than a little obsessive. However, I didn't have much ability to be objective back then; yet I am pretty sure that I thought I was objective about life because I got up early. Which is always a bad way to live. Thinking you can constantly be objective about all things, just because you have some whacky routine.
I was so, so, naive to think that this absolute one thing (my quiet morning time) could make or break my day. When I got pregnant and had E, my whole world was inverted and the solved equations I thought were there, suddenly no longer made any sense. I was exhausted. Exhausted. And I really no longer had any energy to wake up early. Why? Because I was already waking up early...all night long. All night long. Every Night.
Babies are very good ego crushers. They take what you thought was yours (your body, your free time, your home, your furniture, your life) and they poop and spit up all over it. And once they have done that, they become mobile. Which the parenting books and child psychologists claim is all about discovering and learning. But really what mobility means is that they can now start taking apart things, climbing into dangerous places, breaking things and making your home look like a cross between a small budget circus and a 15th century insane asylum. Reflecting on this, its no wonder my "Dalai Lama self" didn't really flow so easily into my "Mommy" self. And it is no wonder the Dalai Lama emanates such love and understanding: he has no children to raise.
So here I am. 13 years later when that beloved whirlwind E crushed my ego and spit up all over my dreams of "holier than thou." Here I am.
It's 6am now. And I DO know where my coffee is. Sitting serenely and calmly on the old trunk of a coffee table. Half drunk. Cold. More quiet than my mind could ever hope to be. Here I am, looking forward to the day with all its millions of puzzle pieces that need to all fit together neatly.
But first I am going to take some quiet time for my self. And maybe have a nap as well. I don't have to worry about setting my alarm. The boys will wake me up. I am looking forward to it.