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Thursday, March 13, 2008

Awakenings

One day last week, a rare and magical thing happened. The stars aligned and circumstances conspired in such a remarkable way that I did something amazing.

I woke up.

What's so amazing about that, you might wonder? Surely you would assume that I wake up almost every day, or at least on the days when I post (unless you disagree, in which case don't make me disable the comments on this entry). What's the big deal?

The big deal is the difference between subject and object. Or, to put it in a less grammar-geeky way, the difference between waking up and being woken up. Catch my meaning?

As a person with two jobs, a preschooler, and a thirty-eight-year-old bladder, it's vanishingly rare for me to awaken on my own without some kind of direct or indirect cue from one of the above. It could be the alarm clock going off at seven to tell me it's time to get ready to go to the office, or it could be Trash calling upstairs to let me know that three hours is plenty long for a Sunday afternoon nap, or it could be a three-year-old at four in the morning suddenly saying "I'm hungry" two inches from my head.

But last Tuesday evening, M. Small was still at the home of his grandparents for an overnight stay. This was the first such visit in over a month, since my parents had left for Florida at the end of January. Yes, he also got to visit them down there, but so did I, and I'd decided to share a bedroom with him while we were there. Nuff said.

But on this particular night, he wasn't expected home until eight p.m. or so. I didn't have any writing projects due. And the house was pretty clean. So after work, Trash and I crawled into bed for a nap, making sure to set the alarm for seven.

I woke up at 6:53 in a darkened bedroom, alert, refreshed, and, I don't mind admitting, smug. Trash was entangled on me in such a way that I wouldn't be able to extricate myself without waking her, but that was fine. I just lay there, smiling up at the ceiling, reveling in the fact that as of this moment, I'd had enough sleep. My body had told me so, just by waking up. Usually I have to get food poisoning and spend two days in bed for that to happen.

When my alarm went off several minutes later, Trash raised her bleary head from my chest and looked around in confusion. "Hello!" I sang to her through the hair hanging over her face. I don't get many chances to be an obnoxiously cheery morning person, so I jumped at this one, even if it did come after dark.

But then, of course, I couldn't fall asleep that night until almost 1:00 a.m., and had to hit snooze several times on the 7:00 a.m. alarm the next morning before I could coerce myself to rise for the day.

Don't care. Worth it.

By the way, Mom and Dad, call any time if you want to take the kid again.

posted by M. Giant 3:04 PM 4 comments

4 Comments:

My 17-month-old slept in one morning a few weeks ago, and I got to wake up of my own accord. You're right -- that is the awesomest feeling in the whole wide world! Nice to know I only have to ship him off to the grandparents to get that feeling again...

By Anonymous, at March 13, 2008 at 6:08 PM

That happened to us on Sunday. Yay for the time change. My 20 month old slept all night for the first time in his life and my 4 year old slept in! It is indeed a nice feeling.

By Katie, at March 13, 2008 at 10:10 PM

A friend of mine calls this "natural rising," and it's very nice indeed.

By Anonymous, at March 15, 2008 at 11:52 PM

Ohhhhhhhhh, man >Homer Simpson lusty gurgle<. Can you bottle o' that and send it to me?

By Anonymous, at March 17, 2008 at 8:34 AM

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Hi, I'm M. Giant. I'm here because while there's no shortage of people hurling their least significant thoughts and feelings up on the Internet, none of those people are me. I'm here because I've got nothing to say, and by God I'm going to say it.

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