So there, I was up.
Up before the birds.
Up before the sun.
Up even before God himself.
Joe will argue that I was born a morning person, but this is simply just not the case. I claim 'victim of circumstance' much more readily than I do a genetic predisposition to waking up early. My earliest childhood memories revolve around swimteam practice at an ungodly predawn hour. Then there was the stint as a newspaper carrier back in the 80's when child abductions plagued suburbia. I remember waking at 4AM just to ensure that there would be time enough to get the route bundled and delivered before heading to swimteam practice at 5 and then off to school by 6:30. By the time I hit college I was so used to getting up early that it just made sense to get my classes out of the way so I could have the rest of my day free. As my sorority (sorority girl, Moi?!?) sisters stumbled into the bathroom to get ready for the day I had already finished my third class, worked out and was getting ready to head to the coffee house on O Street. Post graduate life was no different. Wake up, work out, clean up, drive in...voila! I'm done.
Am I used to this routine? Well after 30 some odd years of it, I'd have to say yes. Yes, I am. But that doesn't mean I don't get tired. As was the case this morning when I beat that alarm clock into submission.
Thrice. Do people even say that word, 'thrice'?
Anyway, my point is this. It was dark. It was cold. And I was tired. I had one pissy diaper pressed up against a shoulder blade and a second one smashed up against my cheek. Not even the 'aroma' wafting through a soggy bag of piss could rouse me. I simply did not want to get up.
But I did.
And then the first one woke up...
as the second one started to rumble...
while the third one, bless him, slept.
It was still dark.
It was still cold.
But by 6:30AM I had accomplished more than the U.S. Army. Well, not really but it was an ego boost to think so.