Not for the first time this morning, I found myself wishing that the early morning productivity that comes out of necessity when you are a parent could have been bottled and sold to to the pre-parent me.
A few years ago, I would barely (for which read, probably not-at-all) have been out of bed by 9am on a Sunday. These days I’ve seen several hours of activity that includes doing a couple of loads of laundry and folding up another, getting us all fed, washed and clothed, blowing bubbles until I felt light headed, singing 100 rounds of Row, Row, Row Your Boat (with accompanying rowing actions – who needs the gym?) soothed a tantrum, built a train track, unloaded the dishwasher, located a lost toy, read six stories, cleaned the bathroom, admired crayon scribbles and vacuumed all the crumbs up from breakfast.
How could I previously have claimed to have “no time!” What did I used to do with myself before?
Sleep? Pah! It’s overrated!