Here I sit at 7 o'clock am. The house is quiet; Keith just left for work, and Beckett is sleeping on the couch next to me. (He has such a tough, exhausting life, he needs to sleep until noon on some days.)
It feels like the calm before the storm. Every morning, I am so conflicted. Every morning, that is, when I manage to get out of bed and sneak down the hall to the bathroom and then into the kitchen without waking up Eleanor. So about 30% of the time.
I can't wait to see her. Every night, after she's been in bed for an hour or so, I look at Keith and sigh and say, "I miss that girl." So in the morning, I can't wait to see her smiling face as she eagerly raises her arms to be lifted out of the crib and start another exciting day. We go to the window in her room and look outside to see what kind of day it is so far, and she waves to the tree and the house across the street and any passing cars, and announces her presence to the world.
Just thinking about it now makes me smile. BUT, I also have been sitting here, quietly working on my to-do list for today. And it's long. So if she just keeps sleeping for a bit longer, maybe I could knock one or two of the small items off the list before 8 am. And wouldn't that feel great?
So I sit. Both anticipating and dreading that first squawk that lets me know quiet time is over. No more planning, or doing. Eleanor's day has started! And mine is on hold until naptime.