This morning I realized how much my weekend mornings have changed over the past few years.
There’s nothing like a Saturday morning. Waking up without an alarm clock… the whole weekend ahead of you.
Prior to having kids, weekend mornings were my favourite times of the week. My husband, D, is a firefighter. If he had worked night shift, he’d be back in bed for a nap when I woke up. If he wasn’t working at all, he’d be sleeping in. I’d get out of bed, make myself some coffee and hit the couch to catch up on some TV shows that I’d recorded during the week. I loved the quiet time alone with my shows. Often, I’d still be in my pyjamas at lunch time. Which was totally fine. Because it was the weekend and we could do whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted.
Of course, things changed after Littleman, and then Bo, came along. Instead of enjoying a leisurely cup of coffee, I chug from my mug with one hand, while prepping oatmeal and pouring milk with the other. Instead of watching my shows, we usually end up watching a cartoon or two. Then, it’s time to play.
Now I’ve added another – totally unexpected – routine to my weekend mornings. Running.
As long as D isn’t working, I try to get out for a run at least one, if not both, mornings. The best time for me to go is during Bo’s morning nap, which means I usually head out around 9:30 or 10.
As I ran this morning, I thought about how the me of five years ago would never, ever believe that this would be my life. The me who spent her mornings on the couch, in her jammies, with a coffee and a cinnamon bun, watching One Tree Hill, would have laughed at the thought of running on a Saturday morning. (I was more of a spinning-at-6pm-on-a-weeknight kind of gal back then. Little did I know that parenthood would make evening workouts virtually impossible!)
Sometimes I miss those relaxing mornings alone. But after my run, I feel refreshed and ready to enjoy my day with the boys. It’s a different kind of weekend morning, but I love it just the same.