Perhaps you've heard Timbaland's hit song, "Apologize"? Yes, you've probably heard it, but what you probably haven't heard is Emily's version of that very song, with its alternative lyrics.
"It's too late to call a child...it's too laaaaate! I said, it's too late to call a chi-hild, it's too late, hey, hey," she croons.
Stranger still is the fact that she would be under the impression that it's ever too "late" to "call a child." Where has she been living for the past 5 years? Certainly not in our house, where children are routinely up and about after 10 p.m.
Actually, that's not quite true, not anymore. Emily was such a night owl, and I think we probably encouraged that. Tim and I knew that we could simply put her to bed twelve hours before we wanted her up. Since I am not, by nature, a pre-9:00 a.m. person, we thought it prudent to have Emily up around that time. Oh, those days of sufficient sleep! I could stay up and work, read, clean--until midnight!--and still wake up at nine, refreshed and ready to go.
Sweet little Jackson. He was born easygoing, happy, and loving the early morning hours. Last week, I awoke groggily (as usual) to find his diapered bottom aligned with my head in the bed, his cheerful face smiling down at me. "It time to get up!" he announced. So we did, only to find ourselves halfway down the stairs with Emily lagging behind, still lounging in her room, unwilling to start her day. "Come on, Em-wee!" No response, then, "I coming to get you!" He's back in her room, climbing up onto the bed, falling into her arms, his head on her chest. "Hi, Ah-eee," he waves excitedly. Even Emily has to smile, and then they're together, holding hands, walking slowly down the steps, a morning ritual. An early morning ritual, at least by my standards and hers, but nonetheless, one we've grown to love.