It has been storming like crazy here in Tulsa the last few weeks. Several nights in a row we had major thunderstorms between 2 and 4 am. These are not little thunderstorms. They are the ones that boom so loud it rattles the windows and you instantly sit straight up in your bed with shock.
My pre-child stormy nights used to go something like this: The intense crack-boom jolts me from a peaceful slumber, I look around to get my bearings, differentiate between dream and real, check the clock, and breathe a sigh of relief it is only 3 a.m. I get to go back to sleep for nearly 3 more hours!
Post- child stormy nights: The intense boom-crack stuns me from half sleep, I check the clock, and lay back down repeating in my thoughts, "Please don't wake up, Please don't wake up." In a few minutes when I start to drift back to sleep I hear giggles, oooos, and other 12 month old jabber. The thunder does not scare my 12 month old. No. The house shattering thunder is like a rooster crow. It reminds me of this old cartoon I remember having on VHS as a child. A character would be sleeping in a bed and a rooster would parade over to the window to deliver a morning wake up call. The character would stretch his hands above his head in a perfect "V" shape as he let out a yawn. He would then sit straight up, swing his feet to the side of the bed, and proceed to slip his feet into his neatly paired shoes on the floor beside his bed. Then start whistling about his day. Benjamin responds to thunder is a similar way. He wakes wide eyed and cheerfully ready to start the day. The only problem is that it is the middle of the night and mom didn't go to bed promptly at 8 like he did. I eventually get him back to sleep, but he giggles, squeezes my nose, and tells me a few stories before going back to sleep. It actually is a very precious time. I am just ready for these midnight precious moments to be less consecutive.
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