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I tried to ignore it, but the sound wasn’t going away. I wanted to cup my hand over my eyes and try to see the boat on the horizon that must have been honking its horn so inconsiderately, but I suddenly couldn’t see the horizon anymore. The dark blue line where the pristine turquoise water met the cloudless blue expanse was gone. Now I only saw darkness.
Sighing, I reached beside me and gave the alarm clock screaming on my bedside table a hard smack with the palm of my hand to silence it. I opened my eyes and let them adjust to the still-dark bedroom around me. Sunrise was still a couple of hours away.
As much as I would have liked to bury myself down in my covers and tried to find that beautiful beach of my dreams again, the day had officially started.
I had a job that I didn’t want to be late for. And I had a little boy to get up in the morning for. I was thankful for all of that.
I wasn’t particularly thankful for the way said little boy dealt with mornings. I might not have loved the initial startling start to my days and wished they didn’t have to come so damn early, but I wouldn’t describe myself as being an anti-morning type of person. I would describe my son that way.
Olly hated mornings with a burning passion, which was unusual to see in such a small child. Most two-year-olds bounced up out of bed before the crack of dawn and kept their parents running throughout the day. My Olly was unlike most two-year-olds. That boy would sleep until noon every day if I let him. No matter how early in the evening I got him to bed. No matter how carefully planned our evening routine was and how many of the fancy calming bath products I bought under the premise it would settle him into deeper sleep, making me believe he’d wake up earlier, Olly simply wouldn’t warm up to mornings.
And that made getting ready for work every day a whole production.
Even if it was the only thing I needed to do in the morning and the process started after the sun was up, getting the toddler up and willing to start his day was a chore and a half. As it was, I needed to pry myself out of bed and start the multi-step routine of getting us out the door when the number on the clock was still uncomfortably small.
My best friend, Deana, once said that if three in the morning was the Witching Hour, four-thirty in the morning was the Bitching Hour. She would know. She was the one I interacted with in the wee hours more than anyone else. Apart from Olly, of course.
His room was my first stop when I woke up. I leaned down and kissed his head the way I always did. When he didn’t open his eyes, I kissed his cheek. Sometimes that would be enough to stir him a little, and I could go from that. But that morning, it wasn’t enough. I took his shoulder and gently shook him while murmuring his name, telling him it was time to start waking up.
It wasn’t going to sink in quickly. This was just the opening salvo. After that first wake-up call, I went and took my shower. That was enough to break through the last of the fog and get my blood pumping. When I got out, I went back to wake Olly again.
This time, he was more aware of it and gave me an angry, frustrated groan. From there, I went to do my routine. A quick glance at the clock said I was still on track. I needed to be completely ready to go and have Olly up and ready to walk out the door by 5:45. That would give me enough time to get him over to Deana’s house, have a quick cup of coffee with her, say goodbye to him, and be on my way.
I needed to be at the logging crew office by 6:45 every morning, so there wasn’t a lot of wiggle room when it came to getting him to her for the day. She was an absolute saint. I didn’t know what I would have done if Deana wasn’t available to take care of my son during the day while I worked. I was still working on building myself up again, and even with the good pay I was making with the logging company, paying for an expensive daycare or nanny just wasn’t an option.
Not to mention I had a serious protective streak when it came to my little boy and didn’t want just anyone taking care of him. I needed to know he was being loved and protected while I couldn’t be with him. It wasn’t good enough just to have him have somewhere to sit while I was at work. He was everything to me, and everything I did was for him. He was going to have the best possible life I could give him.
