I like sleeping, and I do not much like waking up. At least, I do not much like waking up after anything less than a full eight* hours sleep. This would not be a problem, except that I have a four year old daughter, who does not much like sleeping in.
Boo is an ‘early riser’ every day of the week, except, inexplicably, when she sleeps at my mother’s house, as my mum tells me proudly, and often. Obviously I don’t begrudge my mother a restful morning, but I do wish she’d stop bragging about it already.
Every morning I am woken in the same unforgiving way. “Milky and Spongebob!” my little girl shouts, whilst prodding me firmly in the face. (For those who can’t speak Boo, this means ‘Mum, please could you fetch me some warmed milk in my sippy cup and then turn on the television so that I can watch Spongebob Squarepants, which, as you know, is my favourite show.”)
Now, it’s not easy being woken from a very deep sleep with a prod in the cheek and a Spongebob in your ear. And it takes me a while to swim up painfully from unconsciousness to the harsh brightness of the day. I will do anything to buy more time, promise anything for another few precious minutes of rest.
“Ask your sister for milk,” I’ll whisper, and hide back under the covers, or
“Go get a juice box and play,” or
“I’ll give you a treat if you let me sleep some more!”
Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. The other day, it didn’t.
Boo woke me as usual at 6.10am. The other kids were asleep, so they were no help. And Boo didn’t accept my offer of ‘sleeping with Mummy for a while’, insisting – most unfairly – on actually starting her day. I tried to ignore her, but it was very hard to sleep with her repeatedly pulling me on the ear.
“FINE,” I said, resentfully, and stumbled out of bed. I took her by the hand, practically fell into the lounge room, turned on the TV and poured the milk, all without fully opening my eyes.
“I going backta sleep,” I slurred, and turned back towards my bedroom. The bed was calling. Sleep time again.
“But Mummy I’m hungry!” Boo called plaintively. “Can I have a toastan cheese?”
Toasted cheese? No! It was too much! I could do milk and TV in my sleep, but not even I could stay unconscious whilst making a toasted cheese sandwich.
“Have this,” I mumbled, reaching blindly into the pantry. I pulled out some organic corn snacks and tossed them at my daughter. “I going bed.”
“Oh! Yes! Mummy! THANK YOU!”
I stopped. Boo liked corn snacks, but not that much. I forced myself to open my eyes. And there was my child, happily ensconced on the couch, munching a packet of very unorganic…. salt and vinegar potato chips. For breakfast. At 6.15am.
I could have taken the away from her but I didn’t. For one thing, it was my mistake, not hers. For another thing, chips could keep her busy for half an hour.
And I really wanted to spend that time sleeping.
*okay nine**
**okay ten.
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