And then the morning nap went and I really missed that time, the reading under the kitchen table, especially.
And then she off and went to kindergarten and my heart broke, but as I sobbed at the sight of her bus getting smaller and smaller, I also looked down at my little boy who was now all mine every morning, and my heart got a little brighter.
Because even though it would take me a few weeks to find a rhythm, and to look at the morning as full of possibility rather than emptiness, he knew none of this, only that he had his mom-pal all to himself.Probably our mornings are a little busier than hers and mine were. Some weeks it seems like we're running around on all the days we're not at school, and it's just such a relief when the weekend shows up and we can all linger in our jammies for a little while.
I hope he would say that even the busy mornings are fun. "We always see cool stuff when we got out together." It's true, we do - because he has these sharp eyes that always find the trash trucks and cranes and street sweepers and concrete mixers and car transporters. But I hope he would also say that we do spend plenty of mornings at home, in jammies, with play dough or crayons or blocks and snacks.
And so I just wanted to say that in this year, when I have missed my little girl so darn much, I have also truly cherished each morning with my son, with his still-dimpled fingers and big brown eyes and hugs and appetite and even his being a complete handful.