Before having kids, I was able to wake up at 5:30 AM ready to twirl, twist and skip my way through the day. “I don’t understand people who aren’t morning people!” I used to chirp, blinking wildly. I suppose I must have looked suspiciously like an escapee from a preschool production of Peter Pan.
Now, as I pour myself out of bed into a puddle of exhaustion and drool, I find myself wondering if the children have been stealing my life essence. These days it takes at least a full cup of coffee before I can move beyond simply making sounds like a post-pre-verbal stage person trying to remember what words are.