Weekend Wakeups and Alarms with Legs

If you're a parent, you know that weekends don't mean what they used to. There are no lazy mornings or snooze buttons in this chapter of life. Just the pitter-patter of tiny feet and the early sound of "Mama?" when the sun hasn't even yawned yet.

This weekend, my eleven-month-old made sure we stuck to his internal clock both Saturday and Sunday. Bright and early (read: painfully early), he greeted the day with joy, curiosity, and that little mischievous grin that somehow melts my exhaustion.

I wrote these rhyming couplets in the fog of morning coffee and crib-side giggles, because writing is how I process motherhood—the chaos and the poetry of it all. Sometimes, the most exhausting moments are the most beautiful in retrospect.

Even if I'm half-asleep while writing them.

So, here's to all the tired parents waking up earlier than they planned, to all the babies who think weekends are just bonus weekdays, and to the quiet little joys that somehow make it all okay.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to reheat my coffee for the third time.

Saturday:

Someone tell my baby, just eleven months old,

That weekend mornings aren't for being bold.

They're made for snuggles, dreams, and sleeping in,

Not 6 a.m. with that mischievous grin!

Sunday:

Well, Sunday came, and guess what he did?

The same bold wake-up from my cheeky kid.

Another dawn with no delay or dread

He popped right up while I played dead.

So I brewed my coffee, eyes half-closed,

While he danced around like he's well-rested and composed.

E. C. Mira, a tired mom/poet