breebop.com

This morning I poured coffee into my cereal bowl. It took me a moment to notice, and when I did, my first thought was, ‘Why is the milk brown?’

Wesley has declared 6 a.m. to be the most fitting time for a gentleman to arise. I wheedle and plead, but he spurns all my efforts to sleep until 7 a.m. It doesn’t sound like much, that humble little hour, but believe me - oh yes, it makes a difference.

I have tried putting him in the crib with some toys for a bit while I sleep nearby. He indulges me for about eight minutes, but as far as Wes is concerned, waking up doesn’t count unless he does it with me. I’ve tried distracting him with morning cuddles. They are fine, he says, thank you very much, but I think I’d rather try crawling off the bed now.

Then an hour later he starts yawning. My little master of torture may look tired, but just try putting him to bed then. Go on, I dare you. But only if you’ll be babysitting tonight. One mistimed nap, and Wes is yawning and cranky all day, and bedtime is a marathon rocking session, like a finger in the dike to keep the screaming at bay.

He is not best pleased with sleep, my little man. No, he is not entirely convinced of the need for it.