I'm not a morning person. I'll be the first to admit that I absolutely hate the first 30 minutes that I'm awake. I'm tired, stiff, groggy, and haven't had nearly enough caffeine running through my veins to enable me to deal with anything.
My husband, on the other hand is definitely a morning person. He enjoys being up early, catching up on Sports Center, checking his email, and quietly sipping his ONE cup of coffee. For the past 6 months, he has been the one to get up with the kids in the morning, allowing me to sleep a little bit longer until Olivia needs to be nursed. This has become our routine, and I've gotten way too used to it for my own good...
Anyway, today (his birthday) started unlike any other day. Ron was up early, got each child out of their crib and into a fresh diaper, and brought them out to the living room to play. When Olivia's tummy started to growl and her volume started to crank, I knew it was time to get up. As I sleepily headed into the kitchen to make myself some tea our conversation went like this:
Ron: Good morning sweetie.
Me: Good morning. Happy Birthday.
Me: I'm sorry, I should have let you sleep in.
Ron: It's OK; the kids are throwing me a party.