Monday through Friday, I am dragged out of bed at the ungodly hour of 6am to begin my workday.
I long for the weekends, when I can loll in bed, sleeping in past dawn.
I even tease my children about it on Friday night, with the Woe Warning.
I raise my finger in their direction and intone, “Woe to you if you wake me up before I’m ready! Woe to you!” They giggle appreciatively.
Since they’re 11 and almost 14, it’s been a while since I’ve had to get up with them. They’re usually up, watching tv and eating cereal when I stumble to the coffeemaker.
And yet, I’m afraid I’m losing my sleeping-in ability.
Last weekend I woke at seven on both Sat and Sunday. Still later than I normally do, but still early enough that if it were a workday, I could make it to work only a few minutes late, especially if I skipped breakfast.
This morning was the worst.
I turned over, peered at the clock, and it was 5:55am.
In the morning.
I fell back on my pillow, feeling lost and defeated. It was Saturday, for God’s sake. It wasn’t payday, I didn’t have to go to the grocery store or run errands. Why couldn’t I sleep in?
I sulked out to the living room, where Ivylad was watching some pre-season football in Japan. We talked for a bit, and then I decided I was going back to bed.
Dammit.
So I did, and wonder of wonders, I fell back asleep and awoke at the lovely hour of 10:22am.
But it worries me.
What if I’ve lost it? What if I’m doomed to wake up at the same time every day, regardless of work and alarm, for the rest of my life?