This is part two of "Morning Routine." Read this one first.
I wake up to the little grunts and sounds that my 7 week old is learning to make. Sometimes he's already crying and sometimes he's just struggling to get his hands out of his sleep sack so he can suck on his fingers. I roll over and with my eyes only half open and check the time - earlier than I was hoping - we're not sleeping through the night yet. My back aches as I twist up and out of bed, grab a drink of water, and make my way to the bassinet at the foot of our bed.
It's early morning and this little one's clock seems to want to stay awake for a while. I bring him back into bed and hold him close as he nurses and stares above my head- at the blinds on the window behind me. As he drifts off to sleep I wonder if it will wake him up if I try to go make a cup of coffee - now only decaf so his sleep isn't interrupted. After I make sure he's really asleep, I try to carefully climb out of bed without disturbing him in my arms, but he's awake. I carry him into the kitchen and put on a pot of hot water for my French press as he fusses and looks around the kitchen in the morning light. While trying to eat a bowl of cereal and juggle a baby at the same time, I think about how one of these days, he'll be on a regular schedule, and I might be able to sit at my computer, in a house I cleaned myself, and be able to check in and stay up to day, and not have to sneak a quick post in during one of only two or three twenty minute naps that happen during the day. Instead, I scarf down my cereal, and make my decaf coffee and carefully carry my coffee cup and my baby boy into the living room where I set the coffee down and play and rock and love my little guy and forget about my coffee until an hour later when it's cold.
My mind works faster than my day allows for it, ideas float around my head as I bounce around with my little guy in his Moby wrap. I cherish the time I spend with him, I examine the curves of his face and I'm in awe at how much he's grown. I sip my cold coffee in between coos and peek-a-boos, and if he decides to sit in his rocker for a bit, I might get up to warm it up. But if I do, chances are it will get cold again, very quickly.
These mornings are slow and fast all at once. Sometimes they're quiet and sweet and full of smiles and my heart melting with each one. And sometimes full of cries and soothing and my heart breaking when I can't figure out what's wrong. They are full of things that didn't get done, dishes in the sink, mail that needs to be sorted, laundry to be folded. But they are short-lived. It blows my mind when I think these mornings of my life are moving so quickly and soon I might have more of a routine, but he'll be crawling and I'll miss him terribly when I'm back at work. I relish in the moments and soak them in, and then I even when he's sleeping and I might get something done, sometimes I just watch him some more because, well, because for right now, I can.