Much to the bewilderment of my husband, I am one of those rare and
frustrating creatures who wakes up with a smile on my face and bounds out of
bed at 5:30 a.m.. I attribute this to
being healthy, regimented, and, well, thirty.
If there are any tense
moments in our marriage, they occur at the moment each day when I compress his
ribs while leaning across him in bed and babbling, “Heyhoneygoodmorninhowdyasleep?
Myeyesjustflewopenatfivebecauseiwashavingthiscrazydreamaboutmonkeysmadeofpeanutbutterandiwaslikefreakinoutbutiwokeupandwaslikewhooooooa. Want some coffee?”
He says, *nodnodnod* “Mmmmph.”
He means, “If you weren’t my pregnant wife, I’d mush your face in
like Gumby’s.”
Sorry, honey… you’re stuck with a morning person.
In his defense, this wasn’t one of the characteristics of the girl
that he married. When we were newlyweds,
we used to tear ourselves from the slobberpools of drool on our pillows and
stare at each other dumbly like two frogs on a log while sharing a large cup of
nearly-chewable coffee. That was all we
were truly capable of accomplishing. It
was only after we both escaped the draining world of retail sales that my personal melatonin levels evened
out. Morning became my mental and
spiritual preparation period for the day.
He…. is spiritual the rest of the day.
He continues to grumble and eat coffee during the early morning hours,
and I’m okay with that. Otherwise he’d
be perfect, and that would be difficult to live with.
As Mini’s time grows nigh, I find a new peace in the rhythm of my
mornings because she’s become a tangible part of them. Now that the first-trimester furies of my
digestive system have straightened themselves out, I sleep deeply and comfortably
and wake to the funny tappings of my little inner captive ticking her time away
in an odd fetal rhythm of kicks and flailings.
I imagine she’s utilizing her developmental period to study for a career
as a telegraph operator.
"Can.....I have.....a....cupcake....mom?"
This morning was a particularly active one for Princess Little
Limbs. In my initial state of
wakefulness, I’m never quite sure whether it’s her morning announcement or last
night’s Mexican food that’s demanding a flying valkyrie trip to the bathroom,
but I either way, I wasn’t about to take a chance on it being the latter. Once I’m awake, the dance goes like this:
Roll over
à spit cat tail fur from my face à eject cat from bed àpat underside of pillow for cell phone àsquint to read cell phone screen and trip
over curled-up dog à holler “YAaaaaargh!” as I mambo around the startled
dog and shock Jason half-awake àwiggle out of fleece pajama pants and wonder
how the fool I slept in them àfinally reach my destination where I, um,
take care of business while reading a chapter of Gone With The Wind
(Graphic side note: after months two through four, I will never,
ever EVER take morning regularity as anything but a blessing. Holy cow.
Wow. Endorsement for FiberOne brownies goes HERE.)
Following this one-woman parade across the carpet, my morning is
usually fairly placid. I’ve grown to
enjoy my pre-dawn tramp across the dewy grass in my bathrobe and boots, making
sure all our animals are fed and well, and that those who spend the day indoors
are sufficiently squeezed out in an appropriate place outside. I love the few minutes of solitude I manage
to steal each morning while waiting for the pugs to make their morning rounds
through the privet hedges; I listen for their distant footfalls crunching
through the pine needles as I wander the goat pen, looking for new flowering
vines and signs of the changing seasons. Sometimes I’m greeted by blooming carpets of
wild morning glories or explosive tangles of trumpet vine. And after a run of rainy days, I’m often
rewarded with caches of colorful wild mushrooms that the little kid in me
(other than Mini) enjoys kicking across the yard.
Silly little moments like this thrill the stuffing out of me. I can’t wait to take a wobbly little girl in
tiny boots on these morning adventures and introduce her to the outdoors. I want her to know that it’s more than just a
place she’s banished to when mom refuses to turn on the television. I want to teach her to enjoy the ever-cycling
life around us and understand that some mornings there are new flowers or or
wild plums or the smell of sassafras trees getting their sap up…. and then some
days there might be a dead bunny in the goat pen because Big Dolly was doing
her job last night. Mornings are for
opening our eyes and taking in the world around us, appreciating along the way the
gifts that God has renewed for us to enjoy for one more day.
Whether those gifts be flowers,
Or coffee,
Or good mornings from our loved ones (however begrudgingly
accepted),
Or familiar animal friends,
Or…. Fiber.
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