Mornings were so quiet. I realise now that what I liked best was the quiet and solitude. Then I had a child who was also a morning person. But quiet and solitary, not so much.
|"Wake up, Eggward!" "I'm so ova you, Shelley!"|
Suddenly, there was a pause in Chas' monologue. Perhaps he realised that I just wasn't that into it. He looked at me and said, "Mummy, it's dark!"
"Yes, Chas, it's very fucking dark."
Oooooh! A new descriptive word!!!
"It IS fucking dark, isn't it? Mummy, I think it's even fucking darker under those trees!" He went on and on, and I just sighed and steeled myself for the next few weeks. What do you do hey?
Fourteen years and two more boys later. I'm more with it, as I'm no longer the exhausted mother of babies. I am very careful of what I say. Sam is not a morning person at all at all... I can see his toes hanging off the bed from the kitchen and I call, "Wiggle your toes, sunshine, so I know you're not in a coma!"
One toe twitches slightly. It's a start. A minute later I go and remove his duvet and put it on another bed. He grunts. All this time, Chas will be chatting away and flipping pancakes... Owls and bugs have given way to terrible egg-related puns and complicated discussions about international news. "Are you going to the grocery? We need lots of white vinegar and baking soda!" Max tries to keep up, he's pretty savvy in the mornings. Sam eventually staggers into the kitchen and grunts again. He will warm up gradually. We sit together and talk and eat and make plans.
I love our mornings together, the breakfast banter, the hugs and 'have a good day, see you later!' One day I'll have my mornings back... but not too soon I hope!
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