I'm a morning person, always have been, always will be. But then I became a mother, and this sweet little being that I birthed into the world decided mornings were for cluster feeding and snuggling. So I did what all of us mothers on this journey do, I surrendered. I sank into those mornings, moving between sleep and consciousness as my little man nursed on and off, slept and snuggled close. Every once in awhile, especially as he got older, I would try to sneak out of bed and reclaim my mornings, but it wasn't to be. For five and half years we spent the early morning hours doing what we did in his early days, snuggling, nursing and sleeping. Slowly the morning nursing came to an end, he stopped waking so early to snuggle, and I managed to slowly reclaim my mornings, for real this time. I thought with the shift, I might begin to hear the pitter patter of little feet when he woke up, sneaking out of his room to find me, but instead I hear his little voice calling "Mommy", and I go to him. I climb in under the covers, and we snuggle. We don't say much at first, I let him slowly take in the day, and I breathe in every bit of him, and then I say our little morning verse,
"The light opens up and I walk in,
the day invites me to begin.
I ask the day how shall I start,
says the day, with a wish upon my heart."
I ask him about his wish for the day, and I share mine. We snuggled a little longer, chat about the day ahead, and then get up and begin to move through our morning rhythm.
As I laid snuggling with him one morning last week, and he curled in tightly to my arms, I realized how fleeting these mornings are. Once last week, it was Justin he called, and a few weeks ago I did hear the pitter patter of little feet as he quietly got up. I know the day will come, far too soon, when our morning ritual together will end, so for now I sink into each and every one, soaking up this precious time with my little man.