There are a lot of chapters missing in parenting books, most notably “Daylight Savings Time: Your new arch nemesis.”
Until Junior, I had no idea I could be so passionately opposed to something as seemingly innocuous as changing the clock. Now I know: It’s the manmade evil that guarantees your child will wake an hour earlier.
I know everyone says your child will readjust to the time change and eventually get back on his or her previous schedule. But I’m not a gullible newbie anymore. I’ve got a year of practical experience under my belt. Junior didn’t readjust last year. I distinctly remember not only catching Krista Tippet’s broadcast every Sunday morning at 7 a.m., but having time to tailgate beforehand with coffee and Eggos (NPR, I swear our donation is coming).
Of course back then, I was happy with six thirty. I was so sleep deprived I was appeased by the promise of consecutive sleep, never mind reaching for the heights of a late morning.
But now? Now I am greedy for sleep. And this morning, in what can only be described as a major big bitch slap from the Universe, Junior slept until eight. Glorious eight! He’s been sleeping later and later and I know—I know!—that that was just a taste of what’s to come.
What I wouldn’t give for a one-way trip to the Grand Canyon right now. The clocks there aren't fickle.