When I was a senior in college, I remember the discussion question, "Why do you get up in the morning?" Subtextually, this asked what motivates me, what drives me to succeed. And I probably answered something along the lines of getting to class on time, as I was diligently working towards graduating with honors. You see, I played by the rules--I never arrived in my jammies, never turned in a late assignment, never skipped class for pleasure (well, ok, I did skip one Friday philosophy class to visit my fiance 8 hours away, but hey, love demands Plato wait 'til Monday). I felt no need to question my driving ambition; the alarm clock buzzed and I obeyed. I went to school and got my education. I worked hard and graduated Summa Cum Laude. I got married and got a job. I got up in the morning because my eyes opened and the day had begun.
Then I became a mother.
And I confess, I hate getting up in the mornings.
I would love to exemplify the perfect Proverbs 31 pixie, who flutters off the sleepdust fairies with whimsical grace, as I arise before the household to bake a nutritious, delicious, aesthetically pleasing breakfast for my family (I'm a huge fan of Denver omelettes). I would relish sharing a mystical spiritual strength, feeding my soul with a complete, uninterrupted hour of biblical "quiet time", verse memorization and all. Or perhaps a heart-pounding jog by the stillness of the dewdropped grass, as I greet the sparkling sun upon the dusky horizon and pound the pavement home to the welcoming smiles of my cherubic children. I know people with an amazing ability to arise and accomplish all of these things, and I wish I could be one of them.
But, dear friends, I know the real reason why I get up in the morning...and it's not pretty. As much as I love my children and have the best of intentions to greet each day with a grateful smile, months of sleep-deprivation breed an ugly monster inside of me I never knew existed until motherhood...and 6 a.m. Whether it's the baby crying, the toddler jumping on me, or the sneeze in my face that gives a whole new meaning to a morning shower, oh I know why I get up in the morning. Because there's nothing quite like a race down the hall when a loud, "Hey PJ! Look! me's peein' off my bed!" roars through the monitor and springs my weary bones into action. And because sometimes a dirty diaper waits for no snooze. And because of those magical moments when my eldest son crawls into bed next to me, snuggling for seven glorious seconds before unleashing the "Me's hungry. Go downstairs now? How about now? How about now? How about now?...". I admit I'm a bit jealous of my husband's alarm clock. At least he gets to pound it a few times before rolling out to face the day.
I don't mean to sound ungrateful for the blessings I've been given. There was once a time when we were uncertain children would be in our future, and I will always remember that test of faith. Three years later, however, that test has morphed into a new challenge--getting up in the morning. And while I praise the Lord for "the pitter-patter of little feet," I confess it's much easier to sing that song by the light of the sun, not the moon.
So why do I get up in the morning? Maybe I finally need to question my driving ambition. If I can force myself to stretch beyond the status of zombie and stop comparing myself to the sunrise pixies, I believe the subtext of my actions will surprise me. Underneath the baggy eyes, greasy hair, and shuffling feet, there really is a woman trying to provide for the needs of her family. A woman who cares that her children are fed, clothed, and allowed to thrive in a healthy home. Who understands the merit of a clean diaper. Who cares that they explore, learn, and enjoy their childhood. And while during these toddler years she will most likely still greet 6 a.m. with a snarl instead of a smile, have to pry her eyes open and pray she doesn't drop the baby while stumbling down the steps, serve cold cereal instead of a Denver omelette...if she is doing this with the faith that Lord will give her strength and bless the lives and future of her family, perhaps she is not such a monster after all.
So thank you, Lord, for my family, children, and home. But please help me hang on until naptime.
Beautifully written!
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