My son woke up early this morning.
And by early, I mean the "O-dark hour" kind of early.
It was mid-August so the sun was not up yet,
The first fishing boats had yet to roar by our beach,
And the air was still.
He was quite awake, sitting up and crawling out of his co-sleeper
to give his sleeping Dada pats on the head.
"Dadadadada," he cooed.
I felt the frustration rising in me.
He'd been tossing and turning and nursing for hours,
Unable to settle down and get back to sleep.
Of course I wasn't sleeping either...
I decided to take the baby to the other room.
We padded past the sleeping dogs,
I grabbed a tiny blanket from the spare bedroom
And we headed for the couch.
You can see the lake from the couch.
We snuggled under the blanket.
He was warm and smelled good and I forgot to be frustrated.
He rested his head on my shoulder
And we watched as the day began.
First one boat, then another sped past, on their way to a secret spot sure to hold the biggest bass ever.
The wind came up and the chimes began to tinkle softly - a lovely melody played just for us.
The sun just peeked up behind, spilling light on half of the hillside directly in front of us.
The shoreline looked as if someone drew a line at the water's edge with a paintbrush dipped in bright orange.
And as he drifted off to sleep on my shoulder,
I sat, drinking in the morning.
Happy to be awake