Mornings and Personal Brinkmanship

Early mornings are a mixed blessing for me. Getting up early in the morning - and by early, I mean when the rest of the household is sleeping - is one of the few ways that I can wrangle some time to myself. But - but! - that time is usually characterised by bleary eyes and a slow mind. (Cos that's what I'm like in the morning).

My early mornings also tend to come with the unpleasant side serve of afternoon crash-and-burn. Which wouldn't be so bad, could I nap, cos I love me a good siesta. But my 2.5 year old daughter finds napping a quaint and boring activity, and therefore this lifesaving pleasure is unavailable to me.

Despite this, there's something special about mornings, and working in the morning. I felt it when I used to wake at sparrow-fart to do Mysore Ashtanga yoga at 6am, and I feel it now.

Mornings feel good.

Mornings are fresh. They're full of potential. And there's a latent energy in the air, which is probably a result of the natural world getting ready to do its thing. (I'm pretty sure that birds don't have a snooze button).

When I do stuff in the morning, I feel like I'm aligned with similar energy.

Mornings are hard, though.

I love sleeping in. Profoundly. And I almost always need more sleep (refer to above mention of parenting a 2.5 yo with unlimited energy and no naptime). Some days I need more sleep so desperately that no stretch of alone time - bleary eyed or not - can even vaguely compete.

My mornings represent a personal brinkmanship.

At this point in my life, mornings are about a brinkmanship of self-care. One side is "getting some time alone" (very important to me) and the other side is "getting enough sleep" (also very important to me). And I really, really (really!!) don't want either side to come up short. Because...

Lack of time alone = cranky, resentful me

Lack of sleep = exhausted, impatient, unpleasant mother-&-partner me

I don't like spending time in either of those states.

A diplomatic solution to brinkmanship?

Is there such a thing? Does a solution even exist in this scenario?

One thing I've learned as a parent is that there is no perfect solution. What's needed is a toolbox. (Or better yet, a treasure chest!) A treasure chest filled with lots of mini solutions that all yield helpful, positive results.

I need to break here to have a good think about what I can put in it. I might come back for a second post on this later.