I keep telling myself that these are years that matter! I will miss these days and I know it's true. I feel a great deal of shame for the words I write next but I will feel better once they are lifted from my thoughts.
My two year old refuses to sleep in his own bed. Somewhere in the middle of the night he will sneak into my bed. I wake up being kicked, slapped, and my body twisted and knotted to accommodate the amount of space a two year old needs to sleep.
I feel it nessecary to leave him on the pillow he stole from me and head out to the living room. I sneak as quietly as it is humanly possible. I learned this technique from rearing my five year old in infancy.
He must have super sonic hearing though, I turn around to see my handsome toddler sleepily looking up at me in confusion. I scoop him up and we cuddle as we watch the news but I'm dying inside to have a little quiet time in the morning.
The morning is my time to unwind before I deal with the chaos of the day ahead. It's the time when the house has yet to have time to even wake. It was my time to be selfish. I could dance or eat candy or play games I longed to play but couldn't when my kids were around. The best thing I remember is catching up on tv shows or books I really wanted to read.
But here's my two year old sitting next to me, we watch the sun rise together. My only thoughts are how I will miss these days with him as he grows into his own person and maybe, just maybe, I'll get my time tomorrow.