Morning Person and Not-A-Morning Person
I accepted the fact, about 6 years, 18 days ago when Sean was born that he was the total opposite of his big brother.
Where Aidan slept 18 hours a day like a freaking cat at birth, Sean was up all day and all night – and he screamed all night, too. (That sleeping like a cat thing is what convinced me that I could totally handle another baby. Yeah, rookie mistake. I know.)
For years, Aidan was a back sleeper, and Sean was a stomach sleeper. They seem to have swapped at some point. Aidan now curls up on his stomach, puts the pillow over his head, and wraps himself in the comforter. Sean sprawls on his back, even when he’s got the blanket wrapped around him like he’s some kind of human burrito.
Aidan has been a morning person from way back. I think it’s from all that damn sleep he got as a baby and the sleep he gets now because I’m a freak about schedules and sleep, and yes, my children get 10-11 hours of sleep night.
Sean is not a morning person. Not at all. Mostly, he wishes no one would talk to him until he’s completely awake.He’s so quiet on the drive to school I sometimes freak myself out, thinking I somehow managed to leave him at home. Never mind, I’m the one who buckles him into the car before we leave. I’m not fully functioning yet so it’s easy to imagine I’ve left him at home, ignoring his cries, and driven away without him. It’s horrifying, but (for whatever reason) I believe I might be capable of it.
On the weekends, it’s a different story. He wakes long before I do so by the time I see him, he’s cheerful and chirpy and if it wasn’t completely wrong, I’d tape his mouth shut – his and Aidan’s. (I don’t but until I’ve had some caffeine, I seriously contemplate the odds of it working).
Imagine, if you will, a car filled with three people speeding down the road at 7:15 in the morning:
A morning person who loves the sound of his own voice
A not-a-morning person who glares at everyone and mumbles until he’s completely awake
A not-a-morning person who’s learned to get up two hours before her children just so she can function and not yell at them for breathing too loud so early in the damn morning, can’t a woman get some caffeine in her system first, please??
We race down the road, speeding towards a school better equipped to handle the talk-y one. But not so fast that the quiet one doesn’t have time to finish waking up because I like his teacher, and I don’t want her to deal with a cranky-I’m-not-awake-yet-I-hate-the-mornings Sean.
I mumble, nod, and attempt to contribute conversations, even though Aidan doesn’t really need me to do that. He keeps himself going quite nicely.
But when we do talk, it’s fascinating.
In one 20 minute ride, we discussed why he enjoys being the class clown (“Because I like to make people laugh and I think I’m funny, Mom!”); I reminded both boys I will always love them whether they’re gay or straight (“Duh, we know, Mom.” Good – then I’m doing something right.); the political meaning behind the song American Idiot by Greenday (“They don’t sound like they like America very much.” Me: “Well, they definitely didn’t agree with things that happened after 9/11 and since then. We’ve lost a lot of privacy in the name of “freedom” and keeping us safe.” Aidan: “Ohhhh, that sucks.”); and what was on the lunch menu for the day (“Sorry, I didn’t look on the calendar. I guess it’ll be a surprise.” They spent five minutes guessing what it might be. Sean might not want to say much in the mornings, but if the topic is food, he’s all in.)
Now, add to the mix, John, a man who doesn’t become fully functional until his second cup of coffee.
I’m not sure why the non-morning people haven’t risen up and overthrown the cheerful, talkative, always-got-something-to-say morning person among us. We probably haven’t woken up enough yet.