Six am "O' Dark Thirty" as my sister used to say and I'm wide awake. I almost start to get giddy thinking about having a whole hour to myself when... the cries start coming from the crib. Too often I take it for granted that he is not a baby anymore but a toddler that when he has a hard day it startles me. Like when a growth spurt appears out of nowhere and slaps me in the face because the kid is suddenly a newborn again.
I rush to get him before he wakes his sister and all pandemonium breaks loose. He writhes on me, uncomfortable, and I twist and contort. I can't reach my coffee, and I'm typing this with one hand. In the dark. I'm a mommy.
As this warm little soul lying on me starts to snore and I pat his back I realize that my silly hopes of sipping coffee quietly while actually reading, and not skimming, my quiet-time passage are nothing in comparison. I do my best not to keep glancing at the clock for eventually, yes, I will have to start getting ready for work but for now I can sit still. I mentally crush the rambunctious kittens that are racing frenetically around and keep crashing, loudly, into various pieces of furniture. And I pray, for my family, for my church and for my town. This isn't quite the morning I had planned, but it'll do.