Here is your fair warning: this post is filled with oooey gooey stuff. It’s the kind of stuff that will make your teeth hurt. Feel free to skip it if you’re not feeling in a particular lovey mood. This is your only warning.
On Saturday morning, the three of us were snuggled in bed sleeping at 5:59am. At 6:00, Jonathan’s alarm went off. I nudged him softly, then a bit harder, as I was frantically trying to make it to stop before the littlest boy woke up. You see, he takes after his mother, and not his father… which means he has no problem whatsoever waking up to an alarm clock, even if it is bells or crickets or whatever I made J change his alarm to. Luckly, Harry slept through it, and Jonathan turned it off.
We got 26 more minutes of blissful sleep before the second alarm went off. And this time, the Harry woke up. 6:26am. On a Saturday. A Saturday after a Friday when Mum stayed up past her bedtime to hang out with the family members who had driven for two days to see us. I (foolishly) thought that I might be able to nurse Harry back to sleep. Maybe if we were very quiet, and kept the blinds closed, and filled his sweet little belly, I could cuddle him back to sleep. As I was getting situated, Papa rolled over and started sweetly telling little Harry it was time to go back to bed. Too early for waking. To which Harry replied, “big gummy smile.” And that was that. No more sleep for the baby or for the Muma.
As I sat there nursing a very awake boy, realizing it was time to start my day, no matter how tired I was, I was mad. Mad at a husband who always seems to forget to turn off his alarm. Mad at a husband who then proceeded to further wake up a (notso) sleepy baby by sweetly talking to him. Mad at a husband who went back to sleep for 40 minutes.
Now this is where it gets a little mushy. Two minutes into my frustration, I stopped and looked at my baby. He was looking up at me, his hand resting on my chest. The sun was peeking through our blinds casting that early morning glow all over the bed and the two boys I love the most. My husband (albeit husband momentarily in the doghouse without even realizing it) was home and snuggled up to me. And all of a sudden, I wanted to freeze that moment forever. To hold on to this little boy who seems to have grown every time I grab him from a nap. To feel my leg against my sweet husband’s sleeping body. To have the warm glow that was filling my heart filling my room as well.
It was the kind of morning I needed after a week like this one. The kind of morning I didn’t realize I needed until I got it. The kind of morning that will get me through other mornings that might have a little more sleep, but a little less husband. Or a little more sleep, but a little less nursing baby Harry. The kind of morning that happiness is really, really made of. The kind of morning that I wanted more than anything while we were dreaming about this little boy, long before he was ever here.
And then I was thankful that my husband forgot to turn off his alarm.