Mondays are what they are. There's never anything I can do about them.
This morning came too quick. The sky was gray and spitting out snow in the dark. The forecast for the week? I should have turned the TV off. More gray. More spitting. More cold.
But you, lil' dude, you're the best part of my day. I peek in your crib as you lay slumbering away, unaware of Monday. You're on your belly, your tushie is up in the air and your knees are pulled tight to your chest. You enjoy sleeping that way. I whisper good morning and open the shades, turn on the little lamp. You start to stir.
I creep over to the side of your bed and rub your back. You turn your head to face me. You smile, as big as the sky. You're so happy. Effortlessly happy. Then you stretch out long and straight trying to banish the sleep from your eyes. And picking you up all warm and smelling of sleep is my favorite. You fit your fuzzy head under my chin and we get reacquainted for the day.
You're so calm when I dress and lotion you up. Just full of lazy yawns and big stretches. Then you usually ask about the Beagle and I tell you he is still in bed with the covers over his face. He's not a morning dog and Mondays are hard for him too. Daddy usually pokes his head in too to say good morning! and sometimes his face is even full of shaving cream. That makes you laugh. You give him the biggest sunrise smiles ever.
Thank you, lil' dude, for being the best part of today, of any day and every day.