I hate mornings. It is no secret. The irony, of course, is that for years now, I've been getting up at the crack of dawn. Scratch that: before the crack of dawn. I get more done before the sun even thinks about peeking over the horizon than many people do all day. I've even re-arranged myself to a work schedule that takes me in earlier and earlier. But goodness help you if you try to speak to me in the mornings. Just don't. Don't try, don't bother, don't smile and sing-songily say "Good morning!". If you value your head, don't. Wait til I've had my cup of coffee, and my workout, and til I've been at work for at least an hour or two. And even then, tread lightly.
Zoë on the other hand loves her some mornings. She wakes up, coos and talks to herself in her crib, drifts back off, wakes up, coos some more, maybe talks a little louder to let us know that this time she is really awake, wiggles around, plays with the sides of her crib, and just generally has a good time while she waits for attention. When I go upstairs to get her up, she turns her head towards me and smiles the biggest sweetest smile for me. I say, "Hi, good morning! Hello! Good morning!" and rub her little belly and she wiggles and kicks and smiles and looks so happy to be awake and to see her Mommy.
If I could learn anything from her, right now it would be to greet the day and those I love with such unbridled and unfiltered joy. Waking her up is literally one of my very favorite things. Ever.
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