When the alarm went off this morning, I tried to think why it was set. I could come up with no logical reason, and decided it was a mistake. Thankfully, I was correct. I lay there, squeezed between two warm little bodies, wondering at what point Covey crawled into our bed. Trying to remember if it was dark out, or if it was not too long before that obnoxious beeping broke that sweet slumber. Unsure, but certain he must have had a bad dream. Later in the day, I overheard him telling his big brother that he did in fact have a bad dream- something to do with robbers. Bad dreams always bring him into our bed, sometimes nights in a row, sometimes not for a week or so.
My eyes didn't want to open, but listening to that silence made me process my mental list of everything I could get done before the walls vibrated with three loud voices. So it forced me out of bed, ready to start checking things off. Until there was that little squeak, the little one that goes full board real fast- Ella. She doesn't like to be hot when she sleeps, usually tossing and turning until her blankets are off, and she doesn't always want to be close, but when she does want you next to her, there's no sleep unless you immediately fill that void. So I scooped her up and together we trotted to the bathroom. I caught a glimpse of us in the bathroom mirror, our hair disheveled as always in the morning; her wanting so badly to sleep longer but fighting it so well; that little hand stuck down my shirt, as she does whenever she's tired or wanting to cuddle; so I grabbed my camera because these are so many of our mornings. 