A peek into the morning of a person who is not a morning person.

I will myself to get out of bed as I hear baby girl's cries. A difficult task as I had been up with her several times throughout the night before and also, because mornings always have been and always will be my enemy number one. The hubs has already left for work in the wee morning hours so it's just her and me.

Somehow I muster my strength and it's all I can do to get her into a fresh diaper and set her out on the living room floor.



Boy am I lucky that my little girl is a morning lark. She's SUPER happy in the morning, and she looks with excitement at the clean slate that is the bottom rack of our bookshelves containing some of her things, all cleaned up and put away the night before. She always goes for the books first (which pleases me because I love book worms and being a book worm and all things worms and books) and then her little box of colorful blocks. And it looks like this time she also had it out for Pink Bear, who is being suffocated under the Bumbo seat.



I am so thankful that she is content to play on her own for awhile in the mornings. (I think it's God's special and very merciful gift to me.) In my head I call it her "independent play" times, and I sit on the couch and watch with some breakfast and check my email and try to recover from the traumatic experience that is getting up in the morning.



By the time she tires of playing on her own, I'm awake enough to deem the prospect of getting the day started not so bad after all, and we head to the window to watch the snow fall.

Because it's been snowing here. And snowing and snowing and snowing.

And snowing.

On second thought, I think I'm going back to bed.


"Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." - Lamentations 3:22&23