If you read the title in a prescriptive sort of tone then, no offense, but you might have missed the general feeling. This isn’t something I planned or intended or read in a book (although if you really WANT to credit me with awesomeness, that’s fine). This is just something we fell into.
I really, really like our mornings.
Iris wakes up around 7 or 7:30, and Carl scoops her up from the crib and generally remembers to shut of at least one of the ungodly number of appliances we run in the nursery at night because we’re yuppy like that. The two separate night lights are a given, right? But the white noise machine because our floors are creaky; the space heater because we live in Michigan; the humidifier because the space heater makes the air dry. Oh, yeah. If love is measured in parental overkill, this child is set for life.
Carl deposits Iris in bed with us, and we snuggle and play and read the news until Iris makes a grab for one of our iThings, and if it’s mine then she gets to play with the animal sounds app and if it’s Carl’s she gets to watch the Winnie the Pooh theme (the 70s cartoon sing-along one on YouTube. She’s also a big fan of Jiminy Cricket).
Then we invariably notice her diaper is starting to sag, and then coffee sounds good, and then it’s time for breakfast. Carl heads to work sometime after nine, so we usually stretch breakfast out until Iris gets sleepy.
Which, now that I’m writing this down, is sort of remarkable. We have very little to show for those two hours of being awake.
But it’s one of my favorite parts of the day. And I suspect the two are related.