It's in the Genes

Oversleeping

I woke up slowly, dimly aware of anything that wasn't the back of my eyelids until a familiar itch creeped up my lungs and into my throat. I began to cough, and mucus crackled in my chest. The discomfort abated for a few moments, but soon returned, as did the coughing. It was because I was laying down and everything had settled in my lungs. I knew sitting up would stop it, but all I really wanted to do was go back to sleep.

I opened my eyes and was immediately surprised by how bright the room was. It was morning, and judging by the intensity of the white and yellow light filtering through the window, it was late morning. What was originally supposed to be a few minutes of rest turned into a long night of sleep.

I slowly sat up at stretched, glancing over to Sybil's bed. She wasn't there. How late was it, anyway? Sleepily, I looked over at the digital clock on my dresser, squinting past my morning eye goop to read the time.

11:25 A.M.

I read it a second time before it finally hit me how late I slept—and how much I overslept for the day! That was over 15 hours of sleep, and somehow I was still tired. But, more importantly, church started at 11 A.M. Everyone probably left without me.

To be honest, I didn't feel like venturing out of the house, but I felt bad for not being up to help with breakfast, get the kids ready, or pack Niall's lunch for when he went in to work after church. I suddenly felt depressed and disappointed—I hoped he was able to get something together without rushing too much. I should have known better than to "rest my eyes"—no one just "rests their eyes," especially not at night.

I sighed and swung my legs over the bed. My knees felt like creaky floorboards, and a small wave of dizziness passed over me. Not as bad as the ones from yesterday, but still present. Even in the fuzzy warmth of my pajamas, coming out from under the blankets felt cold. I crossed my arms, pressing them close to my chest as I tried to conserve heat, and then wrapped my wings around my torso for good measure. Niall referred to this as me making myself into a "bat burrito." It was pretty effective.

I made a pitstop in the bathroom before going downstairs to make myself breakfast and coffee. The old wooden stairs protested under my feet as I descended them, seeming as cold and unprepared for the day as I was. I knew it was silly, but I felt bad that I was now going to make myself some breakfast, but hadn't gotten any ready for the kids or Niall earlier. Part of me felt like there would have been some justification in the solidarity of not eating, but the other half knew it was an odd, pointless self-punishment.

I sniffed the air. Beyond my congestion, I thought I caught a whiff of something sweet. Huh. Maybe they had gotten breakfast together all right after all. I mean, it wasn't like no one else in the house could prepare a meal. Maybe I was just being silly and feeling that the world revolved around my actions more than it actually did—

"Hey, you're up! I made pancakes!" a happy voice chirped from the kitchen, just as I rounded the corner to see Niall turning my way with a plate full of fruit-covered flapjacks.

Up until that moment, I thought I was in the house alone. I certainly hadn't expected to encounter anyone else. So while I could see and hear that the other person was Niall, I was startled, and my first reaction was a very ungraceful, "Aaah!" combined with slapping my wings out and nearly falling on my ass.

Niall pursed his lips and looked away, his shoulders shaking as he tried to (unsuccessfully) hide his laughter. He raised his hand that wasn't holding the plate of pancakes to his face, hiding his mouth with his fingers as he looked back to me with smiling eyes, crinkled at the edges.

"I, uh, didn't know pancakes were that scary," he commented.

"Not the pancakes," I replied, laughing and trying to catch my breath at the same time—which, as it turns out, doesn't work very well.

"Oh, so it's my face," Niall joked dryly, but still smiling.

I grinned, holding my hand to my chest as I felt my heartbeat slowly returning to normal. "You said it—not me," I teased, taking a few more deep breaths.

"You know, I think I'll eat these pancakes myself," he sniffed, pretending to be offended.

"No, no! Your face is beautiful!" I backtracked, coughing into the crook of my elbow from the excitement of the last minute and a half.

"Oh, so nice, thank you." Niall grinned at me, but with a hint of concern in his eyes. He put the plate of pancakes in the microwave—apparently, they had been ready much earlier. As it counted down, he poured me a cup of coffee and let me mix in the milk and honey I liked.

"So, no offense, but why are you home?" I asked him, enjoying the heat radiating through the coffee mug. I looked around and didn't see the kids anywhere. It seemed to be just him.

"I wanted to see how you were doing," Niall said, popping the pancakes out of the microwave at the one second mark.

"Where are Parker and Sybil?" I asked, ignoring the implicit question in his answer.

"They got a ride with Mr. and Mrs. Hastings to church," he responded, putting the plate on the table. The pancakes glistened with several different fresh fruits, red and purple juice flowing down the sides. Niall grabbed a fork and set it against the plate with a sharp clink. "So how are you feeling?" he asked, looking at me, his gaze as pointed as his question.

I shrugged. "Not great, but that's not a surprise," I told him, taking some syrup from the fridge and sitting down at the table. "Thank you for the pancakes."

"It's no problem," Niall replied, watching me with a hint of amusement as I liberally poured syrup over the already sweet pancakes and sweeter fruit. "Trying to add diabetes to your cough?" he asked.

I couldn't help but smile. "Of course."

Looking down at my big, colorful breakfast, I suddenly felt very grateful. Here I had overslept and done nothing that morning, and Niall had gotten the kids ready and fed, and even made all this for me. Maybe it was a weird thing to get so touched by, but he cared so much for all of us—and so much for me.

"Something wrong with the pancakes?" he asked, interrupting my thoughts.

I shook my head. "I was thinking about how you're just the best person," I said.

"Well, I keep telling people that, but they always argue and say, 'No, it's Oprah,' or someone lame like that," Niall replied. Behind the obnoxious comment, his cheeks turned just a shade more pink and he seemed to glow a little. As much as he joked, I knew how much compliments like that meant to him. It made me happy to see him happy. I only wished that, as much as joy as the affirmations brought him, I could convey how much I appreciated him without the words seeming to fall flat next to what I felt.