If you need me after 9pm, call me tomorrow.

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The fact that I’m writing this post at 11pm on a Friday night is amazing. Not because I’m home, but because I’m AWAKE.

That’s right. Usually, I would have at least a solid hour of sleep under my belt by this time, but we were at a friends’ house, and when you fall asleep at other people’s homes, they don’t always invite you back.

Part of the deal with being a morning person is that you’re NOT a night owl. Meaning: you go to bed early. I have always gone to bed early. In college, I would do my best to hang until the wee hours of the morning (why, people? WHY?) but would often find myself sneaking off “lie down for just a minute” and the next thing I knew I would wake up fully-clothed, on top of my twin comforter, mascara halfway down my face, at 5:30am.

During the week, every night is an endurance test to see if I can outlast Little Mister at bedtime. When we start our pre-bed show at 8pm, there have been many night when I have fallen asleep (Mr. KK, too) while Little Mister watches TV, wide awake. In fact, I’ve never known my child to ever fall asleep while watching TV. How is that possible?

If you find it a necessity enjoy going to bed early, you shouldn’t have children. Because guess what kids hate to do? GO TO BED. In fact, they are so manipulating, that they could drag out the going-to-bed-routine for over 45 minutes. Forty-five minutes. Do you know how many times I could have fallen asleep during that time? Nine times. Nine.

And guess what little kids don’t like to do? NAP. I would practically sell my soul to be able to take an uninterrupted marathon nap on a Saturday afternoon. When I suggest a nap to Little Mister, he acts like I offered him poisonous candy. I want to scream, “Enjoy this sleep while you can, Kid! You don’t know what you’re missing!” Because some day, you’ll be exhausted and just want to throw your body on your mattress but you’ll have a little child who just “isn’t tired” or “isn’t ready to sleep just yet”, even though it 9pm, 9:30pm, 10pm. You will be DYING to go to bed (forget pajamas, I’ll just sleep in my clothes like college) – you will be able to physically SEE your bed from his room – and yet, you will never get there. You will be dealing with orange ghosts under the bed, one very last glass of water, and getting the comforter tucked in on all sides. You will say things like, “I’m exhausted,” to your child. Who will simply look at you, wide-eyed, and reply, “Well, I’m not.” As if that’s the last word to keep you up even.

When Vito the Wonder Dog was still alive, and we were living in our last house, there would come a point in the night when he would be ready to go upstairs to bed. Mind you, he had been sleeping on us on the couch for the last 2 hours, but he’d reach his breaking point. He’d wake up and stretch, shake out, jump down from our legs, and prance over to the staircase. Vito would then sit at the bottom of the stairs, staring at us and crying; it was as if he was saying, “Come on, humans! Can’t you see I’m exhausted! I just want to go to bed.” Eventually his crying would wear us down and we’d take him upstairs to bed.

I loved this about Vito. He was tired? He’d go to bed. Now, when I’m tired, I’m either in the middle of the bedtime routine, or there’s laundry to be done, or cookies for school to bake.

Once Little Mister started growing up, I still couldn’t meet my early bedtime, because on the nights Mr. KK and I would eat after Max went to bed, we found ourselves eating at 9:30pm. (In fact, we still do.) And if there’s anything I hate more than missing my bedtime, it’s being hungry. Food comes first.

So if you ever need me – or, God forbid, ever want to go out with me – after 9pm, consider it a hard pass. We can talk tomorrow when I’m up before the sun and ready to tackle the day.

Right now, I just want to tackle my pillow. GOOD NIGHT.

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