52 Weeks of Us

52 of Me: Six

It’s morning time and that always comes way too early for this night owl.  My son’s shouts from the next room, “Mummy, mummy!” wake me from my deep slumber.  I crawl out from underneath the warm snuggly “Duvet of Life” as we call it, the super heavy winter one that makes my other half sweat like he’s been in a sauna.  The cold air hits my arms and face like an unwelcome visitor as my feet hit the floor.  I stumble in the darkness into the little man’s room still wiping the sleep from my eyes.  “Good morning sweetheart,”  I say.  “How are you this morning?”  He gives me a big hug and I cradle him in my arms as I help him climb out of his big boy bed and put his feet on the floor.  He’s ready to go downstairs and play.  I still need to brush the sweaters off my teeth.  As I finish in the bathroom, I see his shadowy figure descending down the stairs in the dawn.  It’s a cold rainy dreary day, one of many we see in the English winter.  But we’re awake now and breakfast and the rest of a lazy Sunday await.

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