I have trained my body to wake at 5 a.m., so I don’t need an alarm to sound. Sadly, my bladder has shifted to daylight saving time early and wakes at 4.
I slide off the foot of our bed, flat on my belly, crawl across the floor and out our bedroom door.
I have learned to lift up on the knob when swinging the door closed, then to pull hard on the knob when turning it to latch the door to avoid squeaking from the hinges or clicking from the knob.
I can whip eggs to scramble in a ceramic bowl without the fork ever touching the bowl, lest it ring out.
This is how I live out my mornings, all because our house is too small. And it appears to have been designed to function as a tuning fork, with every tiny sound amplified throughout every room.
Jewel still sleeps in our room–in her own crib, you attachment parenting haters, so stand down–because the only other room we could put her in is 3B’s. Jewel goes to bed at 7, 3B goes to bed at 8. Or 8.30. Or 9, if he’s had a long nap.
But then he doesn’t go to sleep until he’s gotten up three or twelve times to go to the bathroom. Every night it’s the same: two minutes after Mama or I walk out of his room after reading stories, he opens his door, stands in the hallway, announces, “I have to go to the bathroom, just to let you know,” then does his thing and returns to bed. For about five minutes before repeating the process.
Potty training is our Achilles heel, and he knows it. What are we going to say–no, you have to pee in your pull-up?
Also, if his sister was sleeping in his room, 3B would try to climb into her crib to play with her, just for fun, to get a rise out of us, and for 1,000 other reasons that I’ll never understand. But he’s not that gentle, our little giant, so he’d probably step on her head, hand, belly, or some other body part, then Jewel would swat him and start crying , then 3B would say he hates her for crying, and then Mama and I would be up all night, building a Berlin wall through their room.
Or Jewel would randomly wake up screaming and crying in the night, as she is wont to do. This is fine in our room–OK, not fine…far from fine, in fact, but for the sake of argument, let’s just say it’s fine–but in 3B’s room, random screaming would be further from fine. Who knows what causes this? Lingering reflux? Bad dreams? Her ability, inherited from Mama, to have her sleep disturbed by a moth farting a quarter mile away?
It’s that last one, Jewel’s remarkable sensitivity to sound while sleeping, that has me slithering like a snake out of our bed every morning.
Good thing I was a fan of ninja movies as a boy. Still working on cracking an egg with a shuriken, though.