early mornings.

5:30 am: 
sit on the edge of the bed, 

the air outside dark, 

thick, and quiet, 

the heavy fog still on the prowl

i try and shove my boobs

into a black sports bra and pull on 

a pair of tropical shorts.

i approach the treadmill.

nathan slides out of the warm space 

next to me, 

slipping on his shoes, 

tying the strings by memory, 

eyes just opening. 

he steps out into the fog.

6:00 am: 
i finish up with toting my 

neon yellow weights, 
up over my head, 

down below my knees, 

the air squeaks from my lungs 

just barely escaping, 

I'm heaving, but i don't stop.

until now. 

the baby shuffles around my body, 

eating bits of paper and whatever else 

he can get his hands on.

he normally doesn't wake up 

this early, 

but one of us dropped the toilet seat

[i won't say who] 

a little too loudly, 
and baby was 

catapulted out of 

reverie.

[it wasn't me.]

oh well. we adjust. 

6:15 am: 
the smell of coffee brewing slowly 

methodically, 

the aeropress doing its part in 

easing us into our morning,

nathan slips quickly behind the shower 

curtain.

i do not shower, only roll on the 

deodorant, shed the work out clothes, 

and put on some shorts i found 

that slide down when I'm just standing there. 

they will have to do. 

i scrub my face, 

empty out the overflowing trash can 

from beneath the bathroom sink, 

straighten the towels and rug, 

calling it good with a few coats of mascara. 

6:45 am: 
nathan and i meet at the couch, 

the air conditioner hums, 

the lights off throughout the house 

except for  the little space we take 

on the couch has a lamp to 

keep us company. 

baby still awake, but ready to cuddle,

he rubs his eyes and nestles into my 

chest.

this is my favorite time. 

we sip our hot fresh coffee, 

we talk, we look each other in the eye, 

there are few interruptions,

and there is time.

my husband reads the Word 

aloud, 

it feels like cleansing rain falling steadily 

on me. or is it oil. 

i don't know but it 

does well for my soul.

we pray together, 

our hands laced together.

this is sacred and set apart.

it is this small window in time 

that i have 
never in my life 

peeked into, 

and now here, 
we are, 

resting inside this world 

i've never been a part of, 

waking up before the sun rises, 

it's like a gift of extra time 

that i've never used before. 

it was just sitting there that 

whole time, 

a whole village of 

early mornings 

but no one was living there. 

i have visited once or twice, 

but now i want to stay. 

put down roots in the 

birth of the day, 

i am seeing what it could be, 

what it has become.
7:20a:
it's time to gently wake up the kids 
for school..