why i drink coffee

Amelia, darling girl, was up at 4:45. AM. Four forty-five in the AM is not even morning, people, it is night. Somewhere in the late, late night. I tried every trick I knew but once the girl is up, she is up. And I mean robe and slippers on, breakfast-ready, with a very bright and expectant look on her little face. That is so not me. Even at, say, 8:00AM that is so not me.

Lily followed around 5:50 and the chorus of the Pet Shop Boys "What Have I Done to Deserve This" kept rolling around in my foggy brain. I stumbled down the stairs, handed them each some kind of breakfast bar (at least I hope it was a breakfast bar), stuck in a DVD, and went back to bed. I have to laugh out loud at times when I am mediating fights, changing diapers, and answering questions all from the comfort of my own bed. I definitely would not call it sleep, but it really does count as something to at least be in a lying down position (my fellow moms know what I mean). And I make it last as long as I possibly can.

So what, you ask, gets me out of bed? Simple: coffee. My beautiful coffee mug full of hot, creamered-up coffee. Something about hugging my hands around the mug, smelling the aroma, sipping the liquid gold...well, I can wake up and there are times I can even make out a little person, a friendly garden gnome type, reflection shimmering in my coffee, giving me the thumbs up and mouthing something like: it's going to be okay, it's going to be okay, you can so do this.

It did turn out to be one of the longest days of my life but I made it through, we all did. And I will tell you this: some day when my girls are teenagers I will not complain about them sleeping, I will not wake them up, not on the weekends you can be sure. I will thank my lucky stars they are finally sleeping in and I'll roll over and go back to sleep. Either that or I'll get up, sneak downstairs, and have my fabulous cup of coffee (along with my imaginary little gnome).