Benjamin Franklin had it right all of those years ago. I wonder how he would have weighed in on the ol' 'never wake a sleeping babe' advice.
I thought of Ben when I was chopping spinach into teeny tiny pieces to hide in Spence's scrambled eggs. At 4 a.m. He was kicking his little legs and banging a wooden spoon against the tile floor. Bright eyed, he didn't seem to notice that the sun was still hidden from the sky. For many, many more hours.
After a failed dinner at 10:30 p.m. last night and some fitful hours of sleep, the boy made it clear that 4 a.m was breakfast time. A quick game of paper-rock-scissors with my snoring husband sent me down the precarious stairs to try to wrestle up something to toss down the boy's mouth.
At about 7 a.m., I kicked Dave out of bed and snuggled under our down comforter for at least 45 minutes of uninterrupted sleep.