My husband and I have been together for nearly twelve years. Needless to say, he’s learned a lot of Megan survival skills. Things like if she’s crying, feed her. If you try and move her covers when she’s sleeping, Megan will consider this a death threat and kick you as hard as she can.
Sadly, or maybe pathetically, though expectedly is probably the most accurate word, the time he needs his survival skills most is in the morning. Through the years, we have developed a routine for optimal lack of tears and least time curled up in a ball fighting the fact the being a grownup means getting out of my warm sheets.
When we’re living someplace with a kitchen, which is currently and unfortunately not the case, the first alarm goes off. I kick him in the shins till the husband cuddles me. For this time period, I prefer to be the little spoon and have my butt snuggled. We lay there, waiting for the second alarm fifteen minutes later. After the second alarm, I have five minutes to curl up on his shoulder, a thing which can never be allowed when sleep is expected because of the copious amount of drool this produces.
After the third alarm, he gets up and goes to make smoothies. I lay in bed in denial until I hear the blender and then roll out of bed and try to figure out where the bathroom is in this cast house, which is hard when you refuse to open your eyes. After smoothie and coffee have been delivered, the morning red alert is open, and I am ready to adult for the day.
Here in Alaska, there are no smoothies. So, the husband goes to the EDR and, hopefully, finds coffee. When I hear his footsteps outside I feel a modicum of guilt that he has already been outside while I have refused to let my feet be uncovered. He, hopefully, brings coffee or some other offering to the sleep monster. And depending on if the offering is edible, we move on with our day.
Some have called him well trained. But I know the truth: he is a lion tamer. I am an angry, sleepy beast that doesn’t want to get out of her warm bed. He has trained me like one of Pavlov’s dogs so he can avoid morning meltdowns. I hear the blender, everything will be all right.
I’m the trained one. He just has mad morning battle skills.
Kudos to you, husband. You have trained the wild beast well.