This is day #2 that Ella has decided to sleep in. Usually, the term "sleeping in" is thrown around pretty loosely in our house. If I make it to 7:30 a.m., I feel like I've slept in (ah, long gone are the days where I hit the snooze button at 9:30 and rolled over for a few more minutes of uninterrupted bliss). My body has finally seemed to adjust to "toddler time" as well. On days when Ella is over at Jake's parents house, or she otherwise decides to randomly go past her usual 6:30-7:30 bracket, I'm usually awake or starting to stir around 6:45 or 7. Even given the opportunity to sleep in, my body just won't let me. Yay motherhood. ;-)
She went down at 7:30 last night, after a 3 hour nap from 2-5. It is now 9:35, and she's still going strong. I know, because I've already checked on her twice to make sure she's still, in fact, breathing. (Because part of motherhood requires you to rid yourself of any paranoia that something might be wrong before you can truly let yourself enjoy every last drop of your extra cup of coffee). Having rid myself of the worry (for now), I find it odd that I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. On the mornings she wakes me up early (or even at her usual time), I tend to sit in a glazed over state, holding my cup of coffee and thinking of all the things I could be doing if she were still asleep and yet when given the gift of time that is truly at *my* disposal, I drum my fingers on my coffee cup and peruse the internet and get antsy. What's up with that?
I could get a head start on a load of laundry, empty the dishwasher, hop on the treadmill for a quick powerwalk (if I'm feeling especially ambitious). Logically, I know there is a list a quarter-mile long that I could make of things that I *could* be doing. And while I'm always thankful to be given an extra few minutes of precious sleep (a commodity that will surely become even more rare and precious once Milo arrives), the truth is that my world wakes up and comes alive when she does. I wake up and immediately listen for her tiny, high pitched squeal and the sound of her musical seahorse and then eventually the dull thuds of all of her animals and books being chucked out of her crib. Something in me relaxes, even though I know that *my* time is over. No matter how tired and worn down I am from the previous days' antics, tantrums, nap-strikes, Sesame street songs and Elmo videos, jaunts in the yard, trips up and down the hall on my shoulders or driving in her cozy coupe, I am grateful for another day-another opportunity- to have my small world opened up by the tiny, curious hands of my daughter. My body might be unwilling and achy, but my heart is full and content. This is the reason I wake up. This, I have come to believe, is grace. ;-)
love!
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