The Secret

I had a sneaking suspicion about my husband Paul from the beginning. There were the telltale signs that were too hard to ignore. But, I did, because I didn’t, no that’s not it, I “couldn’t” accept it. But the burden of knowing is simply too hard to bear alone. So, I am ready to admit it, even though I may be ostracized. Here it is: My husband is a morning person.


In the beginning, he would sleep late. Our habits were the same and it was sheer bliss. But then, I began to notice that the other side of the bed would be empty at 8:30 AM on weekend mornings. “It’s OK, he’s in the bathroom, just stay calm” I told myself. And I wrapped myself in ignorance, like the blanket around me, and went back to sleep until 10 AM, like any “normal” person would do on a weekend morning.

But then I began to notice other things. Was that the sound of a lawn mower at 9:00 AM? It sounded so close, as if it was in our yard! “No, it couldn’t be” and again, I would lull myself back to sleep. Clearly, I was in the denial stage.


Then, one day it became clear. I saw him leap from the bed. He was singing, damn him! I rubbed my eyes and looked at the other side of the bed, sure that I was dreaming. It was as empty as my heart felt at that moment. Slowly, I turned my head to look at the clock. It mocked me with its bright digital numbers; seven AM. So, there it was. I felt as if I had just discovered “straight” porn on his computer. That was my turning point.

I have been through all of the stages, denial, anger, bargaining, depression and now, finally acceptance. Apparently being a morning person is an immutable characteristic. I have done my research. People are born this way and should be accepted as they are. You can’t change them. God knows, I have tried. I would grunt monosyllable replies to his questions in the morning, but clearly he could not reciprocate.

Just yesterday Paul was driving me to work in the morning, chattering away and singing to the radio. I drifted in and out of consciousness. Pieces of his cheerful morning monologue became clear and then faded away: “Are those your cute little shorts in the back of the car?” I heard him say and then another piece of random morning speak “So, they light the little dolls on fire and cook on them!” He laughs and looks at me. “The Australians, Pookie. The barbies!” Nonsensical happy morning speak.

He flaunts it now and I have resigned myself to be a supporter. He will probably want to march in some “morning person” pride parade and I will bravely accompany him with my “I love my morning person husband” T-shirt. The problem is, it will probably be an early morning breakfast parade at some God awful hour. Maybe I can convince him to make it a brunch thing.

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