Mornings

For the first 2 1/2 years of Luke's life I was a working mom.  I had a pit in my stomach every weekday morning, often having to wake Luke to quickly dress him and rush him into the car to get to daycare.  The pit in my stomach was there because I knew what I was missing each of those mornings.  I was missing our Saturday mornings, the mornings when we could let Luke wake on his own and hear him chatting and cooing happily in his crib, and as he grew older, hear him call for momma or daddy.  On those mornings we would rush into his room and the minute he saw us he would flash the biggest smile and put out his arms for us to grab him.  We'd bring him into our bed and turn on a cartoon (or at his request usually sports center) and snuggle the morning away.  He'd bring his B's (what he called his blankies) and he would take the tassles and rub them on his face for comfort, and then rub them on our faces.  His little hands felt so good on my face.  Those Saturdays were bittersweet because before they were even gone the pit in my stomach would return, knowing I was only getting one or two of those mornings each week, knowing the next day would be the start of a week of 'missing out.'  I longed for 7 mornings of snuggling. 

I have recently been given that gift.  And I will never take it for granted.  Each morning I bring Luke and Ben in my bed, snuggling and wrestling and kissing and hugging.  I feel their little bodies and smell their sweet skin.  I love the sound of their giggles.  I want to freeze time.  I know I can't.  But I can have 7 mornings.  I'll take that.