Sunday Morning

I come into consciousness, snuggled and warm in the security of my own bed. The morning light is shining in through our windows, creating a bright and warm glow throughout the room. I open my eyes and then close them quickly because of the bright light. I know it's past 6:45am at least . . . the sun is already up.



"It must be about that time . . ." I think to myself. I snuggle a little deeper into the soft sheets. It's only matter of time before Meg is up for the day.



I hear the noise that must have roused me from my sleep. Noise on the baby monitor that is in Meg's room. The sound of sheets rustling, feet hitting the floor. The padding of footsteps fades on the monitor and gets louder again as they enter my room.



I have to make a decision -- one I make nearly every morning: Do I pretend to still be asleep and let her wake me, or do I sit up and welcome Meg with a cheery 'Good Morning!' greeting?



This morning, I decide to let her wake me. I push my face a little closer to the side of the bed, eyes closed. It's always fun to see how she decides to wake me up.



The footsteps stop, and Meg is somewhere close to me. My eyes still closed, I feel the warmth of her face very close to mine. I feel her fine, baby soft hair tickle my forehead, my nose. Her breath is sweet.



"Mommy . . . good morning, Mommy," Meg says so kindly. Like she knows she's waking me, and she wants to do so gently. The whole thing is so sweet, I struggle to keep my mouth from smiling, which would blow my sleepy cover.



I open my eyes. Meg's bright eyes meet mine. I take in how darling she looks first thing in the morning. A tad sleepy-eyed, hair tousled, jammies loose and cozy from a good night's sleep. She looks like such a baby still in that bright morning light.



"Ohhhh . . . good morning, Love-A-Lou," I reply, pretending to just be waking. I stretch a little. "Thank you for waking me up so nicely." I move my hand to her head, and I stroke her hair in a mild effort to tame the bed-head. I'm still staring at her, looking at my beautiful big girl.



This morning, Meg notices the television in our bedroom is on. I watch her glance at the TV, and I know what she's going to say. Each morning, after our greeting, she usually climbs in my bed with me and asks to watch Super Why! on PBS. We can often get one episode in as we lay in bed, waiting for Katy-did to wake up and start our day together.



This morning, I await our usual routine.



"Mommy . . . " Meg says, thoughtfully. "Mommy, can we go and buy a TV for my room?"



I laugh out loud. So does Jim, who has been roused from his own sleep by this oh-so-grown-up request from his daughter. Jim rolls over, and he and I look at one another and laugh more. Meg realizes something is funny, and I watch a (sly) smile cross her lips.



"No, Meg," I reply. "TVs in bedrooms are for big kids. Grown Ups, really. Maybe when you are bigger you can get a TV for your room."



"And I can sleep on my top bunk?" she asks. Something she's excited to try, but something Jim and I are not ready for yet. (OK, I'M not ready. It's a long way down, and Meg is still quite a fitful sleeper at times.)



"Yes, when you are bigger you can sleep on your top bunk and maybe get a TV in your room," the mom in me states.



"Yeah, you'll probably sleep on your top bunk before you get a TV," Jim says with a stretch and a yawn. I'm glad to have some back up from Daddy.



Meg never ceases to amaze me with her funny requests. Her little mind is going non-stop . . . clearly from the moment she wakes up in the morning.