every morning, around six or seven, our alarm goes off in the form of a little squeal or whimper. he makes slight sounds that wake us instantly, and it's his way of letting us know the day is ready for us all. we move slow and quiet.
i turn to him in his moses next to me, smile and whisper good morning my love and i'm met with a squeal, a smile or a deep, siddhartha-like gaze. we bring him in between us, still swaddled and warm and feed him and soothe him back to sleep if he's in the right gentle space.
it's quite opposite to how one might think a morning would start with a baby ~ loud, a little frantic, abrupt. but since this is fourth month of sleeping through the night, we found early on that the only way to begin each day is slowly and calmly.
our days are quite long here in the moon household, since a baby that sleeps through the night is not one to sleep all that much during the day. these days are full and colorful and tiring, centered around a very tiny being who is learning how to live on this earth.
time moves a little differently in the fall. it's colder, so the moments between being slightly awake and awake-awake is a bit more noticeable. the chilly air makes our cheeks hard and cold and the covers from the bed never seem long or warm enough.
we make the coffee, either steve or i (which i don't mind doing, as i love the rhythm and routine of smelling the grinds, preparing the filter, waiting for the water to heat, that first perfect cup) and i wrap myself in my favorite eloise robe and chunky wool socks, with my rosy-cheeked baby on my hip or at my feet. i turn on the heater and the warmth of the vent mixed with coffee beans convinces me that this must be what a little corner in heaven must smell like.
my husband's curly hair stands tall and wild and unkept. his five o'clock shadow scratches as he kisses me good morning and the sounds of e-mails and phone calls and piano keys start filling up the warm air, too.
it is in the morning that i feel closest to this little tribe of mine, moving slow and rhythmical together, making our way through the parts of those first few hours of sunlight. i know that it won't always be this way. i know that each month that passes, new demands will ask us to change, to shift, to evolve.
but for as long as i can, i will hold onto what we have, right now. where we greet the day as a family, just the three of us, just like this.