It’s the middle of January, the northeast – where I live – is cold, dreary, and depressing. Getting out of bed in the morning has been proving increasingly more difficult as the world goes into a mini COVID lockdown yet again. I am not sure if it is the weather, the lockdown, the lack of sex, or the fact that I am still on an antipsychotic medication that is making me so tired in the mornings. I think it is probably a healthy mix of all the things.

Somehow, every morning, I find myself marching across my room, turning off my alarm, and then stomping right back into bed where I sleep and oversleep for an additional hour till my son begrudgingly wakes me up and tells me it is time to get ready. I read a book too – to help motivate me away from this terrible habit. It’s called ‘The Miracle Morning’, and insists waking earlier and creating a routine will not only make you happier and healthier, but also much more successful. The only problem is, I can’t find the motivation to walk away from my bed and downstairs to start this amazing transformation! My dreams have been so delightful lately – adventures really – that I can’t wait to see the finale of, they beckon me to bed. It makes me wonder if my reality is so bleak that dreams are my savior.

There is one more reason I love sleeping in, and it is silly and selfish… but wonderful. Every morning, before he leaves for work, my husband makes his way upstairs and kisses first our son, and then me, goodbye for the day. It isn’t a hugely romantic kiss, but it is bonding, loving, and incredibly satisfying to my sleeping self. I love it, and it’s just not the same as a kiss given to me while I’m awake in the middle of my morning transformation routine – which I have completed once – mind you. So I suppose the sleeping in isn’t really the result of all the bad things, but maybe the one good thing that comes out of it.