Cohen started coming into our bedroom in the wee hours of the morning (around 2a). By 5:30 it was clear that he was ready to wake up.
He obliged and went back to bed for another 45 minutes.
At 6:15 he came back in and did the usual: curled up next to me, rubbed my ear, and with the sweetest smile said, “I love you so much, pretty mommy” (he’s a charmer, ladies- God help me when he’s a teenager! One day this week he asked his preschool teacher out on a date to the movies… yea…). I smiled and closed my eyes, the universal sign that though I appreciated the flattery, I still wasn’t ready to get up.
Apparently preschoolers are not familiar with universally known facial expressions.
So… then he tickled and “tooted” and moved to David’s side of the bed to do the same. Eventually so the cuteness of it had worn off under my need for 15 more minutes of shut eye, “Cohen go to your bedroom and play, please until we’re ready to get up.”
People, you would’ve thought I just told him he could never eat chocolate again or something. He was hysterical.
When hysteria was ignored, he turned to whining: He needed a drink. Then he was scared. The it was too dark. Then he missed the dogs and wanted to go downstairs. Then he was hungry. Then he was scared again.
When the whining did not make me jump out of the bed any sooner either, he finally asked how long until I was ready to go downstairs. “Ten minutes,” I replied, thinking that meant little to a kid who doesn’t know how to tell time.
“OH MOMMY,” he wailed, “ten minutes is a lot of numbers!”
Despite the fact that it was still not 6:30 and despite the fact there had been a lot of whining and crying, David and I couldn’t help but laugh.
Co stormed off to his room. About 30 seconds later he came back. “Mom, my clock says it’s time to get up now.”
[Side note: David put a digital alarm clock in his room, in an effort to tell him he had to wait to get up until it went off. Fail. Good idea, but total fail. The boy is such an early rise/light sleeper that I am sure he will never need an alarm- he could get the sun up if she needed help]
“Oh really, Bean? What does your clock say?” I wondered what number he would come up with. In Co’s world everything is always 8 o’clock or 11 o’clock.
“It said [think about this being said in a very high pitched, whispery voice of a child] “It’s time to wake up! It’s time to wake up! It’s time to wake up!”, he insisted. Apparently he took that whole what does it say thing literally (another reason to love the preschool age language development- it is so literal).
“Ooohhh… okay” I said, stifling a giggle.
He went back to his room for a second and then came back, “Now my clock is saying that its really time for OTHER people to get up. I am very serious, Mom.” His little face was as serious as stone.
“Any people in particular?” David asked, working to hold back his smile.
His face cracked and that big infamous Cohen grin appeared… “like YOU!”
So friends, this is a story about why no one is our house gets to sleep until their alarm goes off. Even on Saturdays.
God, can you please make this child in my womb have the sleeping capabilities of my husband? Please and thank you.
Happy Friday, friends! 🙂