“This is what 5:00 A.M. Looks like.” My husband says. We are on our way to the San Fran airport, the kids and I are going to see my sister and her babies, an 8:00 a.m. flight to catch. I don’t have to see his face to know he is smiling, a big goofy smile, (yeah, you’re hilarious,) I might remind him I have four children, I know exactly what 5 am looks like and she ain’t perty. It’s too early for me to fake it. I didn’t even bother with a courtesy eye roll. I whack him like a teenage girl whacks her dad for saying dorky stuff.
How I got myself into this particular type of banter with my lover is sometimes beyond me. I have conditioned the man to always go for funny, always find a punch line. I swear he used to be funnier…maybe he just needs new material or more likely I’ve just lost my funny bone…not lost…misplaced…due to gravity. Just like everything else on my body, gravity is stealing it from me. I seriously thank heavens everyday for my tiny breast.
Well, “thank” is probably an exaggeration. My point is that it could always be worse. That’s not to say I could have a smaller bra size, that’s doubtful, but it coulda been a way more painful a.m. For instance it could have been 3:00 a.m. Like it was on May 7th when I drove my 20 year old to the Oakland Airport, a little over an hour from our home,and loaded him on a plane eventually headed to South America. All by myself I might add.
I won’t even talk about the countless times I’ve been up to nurse, change diapers, chase boogie men, daydream, worry, or let the damned cat out of our bedroom because she’s a cat and can’t decide if she wants in or out and because she has bad manners and is relentless…
Oh geez, I won’t remind him of the time , 9 years ago while living near Mt. Bachelor in Oregon, when we had a pet iguana who spent summer days outside and I forgot to bring her in. When I did her body temperature was about 48 degrees Fahrenheit. Roughly the ambient air temperature. (Generally under 60 degrees is potentially detrimental to these cold blooded tropical animals.) I remembered her around two a.m. She could have been dead, I couldn’t tell. At just over three feet long she was stiff as a board. I got naked and put her frigid, stiff body up against me (gross I know but I was consumed with guilt and desperate to save her) and wrapped us in a blanket. It worked. After about forty minutes I could see her breathing again and twenty minutes later she was moving.
See? I can get up early, for a good reason…or a frozen lizard. Actually animal in need, I won’t bore you, or me, with all the stories about feeding wild baby birds at day break, roughly 5 a.m. In the summer.
Bless his heart my husband has no clue, (mommies are always up a little latter getting clothes in drawers, getting last minute work completed and lunches packed or um…blogging on occasion.) Well how bad can I hold that against him? He only has X chromosomes after all and I wouldn’t be attracted to him the same way if he had a Y chromosome. So despite my inability to see his comedic genius I’d say I am a lucky girl…so long as he doesn’t talk to me before 6:30 a.m. Unless it’s to bring me emergency coffee…