My toddler is an early riser. A 6:30 am wake-up is a relief when it happens. More often than not we’re stumbling down the stairs at 5:00, me reaching for the Chemex before anything else. My son knows the routine, "mama, mama, get your coffee, and then let's read a book." On mornings when he wakes fitfully with a cry for mama before 5, I do my best to convince him that we should sleep a little longer. I'll invite him to cuddle with me on the couch in the living room. On the rare occasion—like when he's sick—he'll fall back asleep, his warm body imprinted into mine and his soft breath puffing into my face. Most of the time it's his body dancing on mine as I try my best to model a good snooze. Legs kicking up and down, arms squirming underneath and over, sitting on, rolling on, climbing on, feet in face. This drawing is one of those mornings.
I am actually a morning person (my partner is decidedly not). About a month ago, I made the conscious decision to try and tap back into why I loved mornings pre-kiddo (in an effort to feel a little less whiny myself). I would often take my cup of coffee outside and feel the quiet of morning, gaze at the moon above, or watch the morning mist disperse to reveal a warm sunset. I used that uninterrupted time to draw or write. So while mornings can’t be sound or interruption free with a toddler, we’ve been going outside first thing when we wake up. "Look at the moon, mama!" he squeals with delight as we look up to the cold winter sky.