I've been waking up at 5:20 on "school" days to work out. It's a horrible feeling to wake up 5:20 to exercise (at least it is for me) but I'm oddly very disciplined about it (as with many things in life, I wish I'd had the discipline at twenty that I have at forty). Even on the days when it hurts to wake up that early, I just power through it. I've been doing this since the end of February, so it's more than habit at this point. But today, the alarm went off, and I had gone to bed early and I had slept all night without interruption, so all signs pointed to getting up without a hitch. But I reached over and turned off the alarm and lay back down. About ten minutes later, Cole's singular voice spoke by my ear. Mommy, I need my inhay-luhs. This particular event always causes me to levitate out of my bed and move at extreme speeds through a dark and blurry house, because when Cole actually requests an inhaler, he's in the throes of a pretty intense asthma attack. It took three hits of his rescue inhaler to get him back to normal. I pulled him in bed with me, and calmed his shaking arms and felt his racing heart, and kissed him all over. And then took him downstairs to stuff him with protein to quell his shakes. I have to wonder about the decision to turn off that alarm. Not that Tim couldn't have handled it, but he's an extremely heavy sleeper, and he also wouldn't have known where to begin to look for those inhalers. So it's odd, but I believe I received a gift this morning.
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