Fall Mornings

October 01, 2017  •  Leave a Comment

I always wake up a little groggy, still not used to the realization that you've been sleeping through the night for 4 months now. I never wake up before you, I'm still catching up on z's I lost when you were learning how to drift off to dreamland uninterrupted. Someday I'll get up before you and be productive or exercise or something. But not yet. 


You're happy in the mornings, but still clingy snuggly. I don't mind. Since you've weaned and since Daddy has been away, I'll gladly sit with you under the covers while you slurp down your morning yogurt with syrup. We're both still warm with sleepiness, and you haven't started wiggling too much yet. 


You've started sitting at a small table—like a big boy—and I hate to break your routine, but I just can't resist the closeness and the heat of your little body. You used to cuddle so freely when it was my body that was keeping you nourished. Maybe I should feel more appreciative of them now that they're on your own terms.

If I'm lucky, I'll put on my pot of tea and get around to drinking it before it gets too cold. (That's what microwaves are for, right?) I have a stainless steel thermos somewhere that would keep it piping hot for me, but there's just something about drinking from a pretty tea cup that makes the constant re-heating worth the inconvenience. 

Meanwhile, you've begun your morning work: removing every single book from the bookshelf, before you begin dropping dominoes down the slots, peeking in afterwards and smiling at me for approval while they 'plink!' against each other. This is only the first of many rounds of this activity. I'll pick up and re-shelve your "babies" (books) a thousand times so you can relive the joy of removing everything from its place. 

At some point after I scroll for a little while, you find my phone, and practice your own photography skills.

These are the details I want to remember before they change into something new. In a few months, you'll be walking and our morning rituals will undergo a drastic change. I love watching how you change, but I mourn the loss of each stage before this one, and look forward to each new one with excitement. I love you, Alo Monroe.


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