easy like Saturday morning.

My body slowly comes out of the sleep it’s been wrapped up in and I become conscious first of the cocoon I have wiggled myself into, then of the baby whining in the other room, and finally of the time.

7:05am.

I unopen my eyes against the chilly morning and move a foot.

I am alone in the bed.

How long has Charlie been awake?

It doesn’t matter; Cort is up taking care of him.

I drift back to my dream only to be startled awake by loud questions about breakfast and Octonauts in the next room. I lift my head to see it’s now 7:37am.

I roll over and wait.

No one comes to get me, so I allow myself to press my nose into a cool spot on the pillow and once again give in to the pull of my tired mind and body.

I do not fall back to a hard sleep. No, I remain in a state of awake sleep.  I catch bits and pieces of what is going on with my conscious mind, never fully waking or interacting.

The door opens and a hand touches my my hair.

“How much longer do you want to sleep?” he gently asks.

I turn to see the clock. 8:45am.

“15 minutes,” I murmur.

The next sound I hear is the door gently clicking so as not to disturb me, while in the background Eddie’s voice sings out, “I’m wearing uuuuunnndiess on my boooooooty!”

I start back awake.

9:32am.

I roll to my back listening and blinking the sleep out of my eyes.

I have not slept well, and my body protests my brain telling it to wake up and face the world.

My body wants to roll over like a grumpy teenager, but my grown-up mind says, “you have responsibilities, wake up!”

The house is strangely quiet; I could sleep so much longer.

But I take one more big stretch, resisting the urge to roll into the cool side of the bed, and I get up to face the day.

Eddie is playing Mario Kart, Cort is busy doing homework at his laptop, and Charlie is out of sight, snuggled back down for his morning nap.

The urge to turn around and go back to bed is strong, but Cort’s smile tells me he is ready to take a shower and get his day moving.

And so, after pouring myself of the coffee Cort has made for us, I sit next to Eddie and ask him what he wants to do today.

This post is written in response to the writing workshop prompt: “Saturday morning at your house…”

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