That's the earliest I allow myself to get out of bed in the morning these days, though I'm often up far before that. Why 6:42? 6:30 seems too early for a non-working person, and 7am feels like the middle of the day in my world, so it's a compromise.
It's only been a little over one week since I left my job, and my body refuses to adjust. Normally (if you could call the life of a working mom "normal") my morning routine was clearly defined: up before dawn, check email, read the papers, scan the news, squeeze in a workout, prep dinner for the family, get dressed and ready, get Noah dressed and ready, and out the door by 8am. Whew! Now, I lie in bed, stare at the alarm clock waiting for it to hit 6:42.
Don't get me wrong, there's plenty I could and should be doing with my time (aside from watching digital numbers advance). Baby #2 is due any day and I've yet to wash a single onesie or put clean sheets on the crib. And everyone tells me I should be resting... because Lord knows that's a word that will soon be removed from my vocabulary. But right now I feel like I'm mourning the loss of a different word... "job"... and the identity attached to it.
When I was working I longed to be home with my sweet baby boy. I came home every night covered from head to toe in a thick coat of Mommy Guilt. What major (or minor) milestone in his precious life had I missed while chasing down the story of the day? Would he grow up feeling abandoned and neglected by his mom who spent half the day away? Now that I'm home I find myself craving the hectic pace of the newsroom, the structured chaos of working up against daily deadlines, the camaraderie of the team. I know I'll never regret taking time off to be with my children, but there's another side of me that feels incomplete, and I feel guilty even admitting to that (darn that Mommy Guilt again!). So where is the balance? I'll start looking for it again bright and early tomorrow morning.... maybe I'll live on the edge and stay in bed until 6:43.