Early Morning, Every Morning

Somewhere between six and 6:15 every morning, Nolan slips out of his room, manoeuvers over and around the sleeping obstacles in the hallway (that would be Kokanee and Waylon, for the uninitiated) and lands beside my bed. Every morning.

And he whispers, "Mummy. Is Dad in bed?"

"No," I answer, "he's at work."

"Can I come in bed with you?"

"Of course; come on."

I help him up onto the old iron bed. He crawls over me and then snuggles down under the mountain of warm covers. And we share the pillow. Every morning.

I ask him how he slept. He answers, "good." We snuggle awhile longer and then he gives me a big hug and a kiss. He hears his brother stirring, so he crawls out from under the covers, back across me, slides down from the old iron bed and disappears into the darkness. Every morning.

I wouldn't change my mornings for anything in the world.