I’ve always been an early riser. In my pre-kid days, I was up and about at 6am. Since kids, it’s been an assortment of waking-or-being-woken, and at almost every variation of hour and minute possible. Now that Mr 2’s almost Mr 3 however, my night-time patterns are slowly returning to some semblance of pre-kid existence, in that the hours in between 10pm and 5am are generally kid-free. And I’m okay with that. Really. Those night-time feeds were a killer – but nothing compared to the 3am vomit cleanups. (Sorry if you’re reading this while eating or with a queasy stomach!)
But my kids are getting older – it was inevitable – and that’s good. It’s also sad. No longer does Miss 7 want to come and see me as soon as she wakes up – she hasn’t done this for years now. Miss 4 also seems to prefer talking to her sister, and playing in their room. Now it’s just Mr 2 who comes to visit Hubby and me upon waking. It’s probably the only thing that he does voluntarily to show love / affection / a desire to be close to me. So I’ll be sad to see him grow out of that.
But this morning was precious. Mr 2 didn’t just visit, he climbed into our bad at 5.32am, and then Miss 4 also decided to join us at 5.45. Miss 7 even paid us a brief visit, to ask if she could now go on the playstation, seeing as she was completely dressed in her correct school uniform (part of a deal we’d made last night) so Mr 2 accompanied her to the lounge room, and Miss 4 snuggled, giggled, and played with her Daddy and Mummy until we all got up at 6.
Precious. Oh so precious.