Dear 7:10 am,
It has been half a year since I’ve seen the likes of your numbers on my clock when first my eyes open in the morning. Oh, how I have missed the state of semi-rested-ness you produce in my body. How beautiful the light you emanate; not the half light of barely morn that 6:00 am flirts with, the one that lulls me into wanting to snuggle my face deeper into my pillow while Pink Panther cavorts on the Tivo. No siree, you have boundaries that say “No mistaking, I’m MORNING time”.
How grateful I was to see you today, as my eyelids lifted to find two toasty bodies snuggled to mine (Indigo was the Veggies, Kaia and I the bread). While Kaia stroked Indigo’s sleeping face gently, it was the first morning in months that my mood was more Barney than Oscar the Grouch.
No three year old running into our bedroom, wailing for “Oat-meeeeealllll!” and “More Juuuuuuice!”. Gone was my scratchy throat response of “In a minute, mama needs to rest!” coupled with increased wails and self-induced body slamming tantrums (hers, mine, or both? You decide). I think there was even giggling.
Instead, dear Seven (your new pet name), the family bed was a harmonious place of sugar, spice, and everything nice. My body didn’t feel ravaged, my mind was clear, and my babies were the Sweetest Peas you ever did see. I mean, hellooooo, we even LINGERED in the bed for 15 minutes! I think the last time I ever lingered was in my college dorm at 2pm after partying with the men’s Swim Team all night.
Oh, glorious Seven, won’t you stick around for more wake up visits? How I adored stirring from sleep beside your warm and welcome embrace, our feet entangling for a sumptuous moment.
You didn’t even have morning breath.
Forever yours (until Eight rolls around),