Morning Stories

June 18, 2012

The best part of this day was waking so early – 4:37 – with the excitement that I had the morning off and would be able to write chapters and chapters of novels, volumes of poetry, entire websites, action plans for the home décor and proposals for new work. I was too excited to go back to sleep. Maybe it was a sign. A sign that my energy was made for mornings.

I made coffee in the office, so as not to wake the baby on the other side of the wall from the kitchen sink. He slept on. I drank the whole cup of coffee, with cream, while it was still hot. I wrote pages and pages in my diary and it was more than just whining. There were actual insights. Really.

Baboo woke at half past six, singing little baby songs to himself. I never hear him singing like that, a swinging sound, whirling and cyclical, like a bird calling out the morning over and over. He’s a talker generally, or a sigher, or sometimes a cryer.

It was so nice to have finished the coffee and the diary before I heard my presence demanded. It’s hard to do with the sun up so early nowadays. He sleeps so lightly that even at six, my footcreaks along the floorboards make him stir. I should dive into the journal without clattering the coffee pot, but ….no. Just no to that.

So then, it felt like we had oodles and oodles of time. G not up til 7 and nowhere to be until 8:30. We decided to read books on the couch. New books. The First Nations legend, Frog Girl, that I’d bought at the Squamish Lilwat Cultural Centre when I went to the drum-making workshop during the Olympics. Baboo was still six months away then.

He’s old enough to follow a story now and he stabs his finger at the pictures for some reason, jab jab jab as though counting or maybe finding all the instances of green. I’m not sure. The illustrations are beautiful, so maybe they were jabs of admiration.

I sat with my back against the arm of the couch, my feet up and he leaned against me, tucked between my knees. We put Nana’s quilt over us. A first time for that too, as he’s always been suspicious of things that conceal his toes.

That was the best part of the day. That was before the exhaustion that comes from waking before 5 set in. That was before the tears and all that.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s