You see, I’m a night owl and this is not my cup of tea. Rising before the sun, choosing to embrace the day, filling sippies, and changing diapers.
Last night I was up until midnight. I could have kept going; I was on a role and enjoying the quiet. The stillness that is the dark of the night is beautiful. In comparison to the dark of the morning. That is a different kind of beauty. One I would prefer to sleep through. But I knew morning would come soon, so, to bed I went.
At the dark hour of 6:15 am I heard a whimper in the hallway before the door burst open. I had been snuggling Max in the spare room and Jemma had found us. Before I knew it, she was clamoring into bed next to me. Snuggles ensued. I was the middle of a mama sandwich. My first coherent thought was, “This is right where I belong. Right where I belong.” Then I prayed, Dear Lord, please have the bread of this mama sandwich fall back asleep/stay asleep. One side followed directions (Max), while the other touched my face and whispered, “Mama, Mama” over and over again. I slowly opened my eyes and smiled, “Yes, Jemma?”. She giggled. A giggle that could only mean, “Today is a new day, let’s get to it, Mama!” And so, our day began.
Early mornings ought to be spent in bed. At least that’s what my selfish soul wants. My self that isn’t a mama. My self that craves rest. But they are not, that is not my season. And I am learning to love the season I’m in. This season of mothering little ones who depend on me so much. My early mornings are spent with tiny arms pulling me out from the covers. Sweet whispers. Warm cuddles. One on one time with my first baby while my other continues his slumber. Jemma and I begin the day in darkness … together. And I would have it no other way.
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