I love you more than life itself. But you make me tired. Your brother isn’t well, I’m pregnant, and we work. It’s Saturday.

I wish I understood how you came from me,

The hater of mornings. How you could possibly think 5 am is an acceptable time to be awake. And loud and up and begging for screen time. You aren’t getting it. Your attitude is crap on screens. And you’ll just rise early to get more if I let you have it.

Go read.

Go play with the billion toys you own.

The fact is, sweetheart, we set rules about when you can get up. Not that you follow them. Unlike every other child in the world, you rise hours HOURS before school or sports or church or anything. Days mean nothing. It doesn’t matter that this week has been slammed with medical visits for me and your brother, school, work, after school activities. It doesn’t matter if you stay up late. You still rise hours before the sun.

I wish you understood that just because your eyes open doesn’t mean it’s time to rise. Maybe you’ll need this personality in your job one day. But for your entire life, you are exhausting me and your dad.

Your father was so angry with you. Up. Down. In and out of our room. Climbing in our bed. I wouldn’t mind a snuggle with my big child. But you don’t come to snuggle. You come to talk and negotiate and annoy until you hope we will give you a phone or the tv.

It’s not happening.

Nothing is open at this hour. No stores. No playgrounds. Nobody is at school or church or the ball field or any of your activities.

I wish you could see your attitude. Because at about 1 this afternoon, it’s gonna be crap because your tired. You never slow down. You never take a break unless plugged in front of the tv. You’re always loud. You have been for years.

They’ll be a new baby soon. You’re gonna wake him too. I’m dreading it son. Dreading it.

Last night you were barely functioning. But you never stopped. You just got louder. Meaner. More disrespectful. You crashed early because me made you go to bed. A later bedtime doesn’t result in you sleeping later. It just makes you have even less rest.

I had to talk your daddy down for yelling at you this morning. You badger. You annoy. You talk. You open doors a million times. You beg. And he was ready to yell.

He did snap at you at breakfast because you have been up for hours. To you, it’s long past time for people to be up and functioning. We aren’t. We’ve worked all week. It’s snowing. The world is quiet. Your pregnant mom, your tired dad, and your sick brother need you to shut up.

You’re the most brilliant child I know. Reading books like people eat a donut. Devouring and leaving. Excited because you got a new workbook you can do on top of school. You have a photographic memory. I think sometimes that big brain of yours is running so fast you don’t know how to slow down.

But dude, you need sleep. You need to let your body catch up with your head. And despite years and doctors and trying, nothing seems to make you understand how badly your family needs you to shut it in the morning.

I’m frustrated at how aggravated I am with you. How mad it makes me to be constantly bombarded with questions and demands and talking at 4:30 am. To hear you up again. To hear you wake your brothers. Your dad.

We can’t GO all the time. We don’t have the money to go to everything you want to do. And go. I’m sorry we live in nowhereville. Sometimes I hate it too. But I buy books and toys and blocks and Legos. Be bored. Be creative.

But just be quiet until we can get up.