I have a love/hate relationship with my bed. And with my mornings. I love the fact that my bed is so nice, so warm, so inviting. That the covers keep me at the perfect level of comfort throughout the night (well, aside from those moments I wake up sweating, but I totally blame hot flashes/HVAC for that). And I hate having to leave all that goodness after my alarm clock chimes. Or screams. Or perhaps goes off for the third time because someone keeps hitting the snooze button.
Mornings in general are about the same. I love that I'm alive for another day, thankful for the opportunities that will present themselves because of it. Another day to laugh and love (and fight the any apocalypse that's taking place in my kitchen right now) and make memories and moments. Yet I hate that it's early, and it's cold (outside of my covers) and would rather not have to speak to anyone for a few hours. As with everything, some mornings are worse than others. On those mornings it's pretty easy to send me over the edge with just a simple question. Justin's learned the hard way. Thankfully during the worst of the early mornings (ie, tax season), he's still sound asleep as I sneak out my door and thus is safe. My co-workers however, are not. Although I admittedly try very hard to be cordial before 9am just because it promotes a good work environment :)
As I catch myself sometimes wondering what turn my future children will have in this area, I remember that aside from just not wanting to get out of bed (I mean, who else has noticed that the comfiness of your bed increases, like, ten-fold once it's time to get up), I was never a grump in the mornings when I was young. Nighttime perhaps (and still am), but not the mornings. I'll throw it into the category of "the older I get, the more like my daddy I am" category. And hope that the kids that are but a glimmer in my eye right now will take after their daddy, who has an annoyingly inherent ability to hear his alarm, jump out of bed, and be ready to start the day in oh, about 30 seconds.