I wake up each morning to a radio tuned to NPR. Actually, I used the term “wake” pretty loosely in that sentence. Let’s say that I become “vaguely re-aware” of the world sometime between 6:30 and 7:00 a.m., at which point I promptly quash the soothing voices of the NPR newscasters with a sleepy swipe at the snooze button.
He wakes with a couple of slow blinks, his head turning side-to-side. He turns a sober eye on his awakener and takes a breath or two. Suddenly, his whole body erupts into a spastic, joyful grin. His feet kick up in the air and his eyes light up.
My husband knows better than to expect me to deviate from one or two preset utterances before I’ve had my coffee. And making a joke is out of the question for at least the first 10 minutes…
Within minutes of opening his eyes, he’s laughing and squealing with delight at seeing the faces of the people he loves most in the world.
I wake most days thinking, “Ugh. I have to… and I have to… and I have to…”
He seems to wake most days thinking something along the lines of, “Oh, man! I get to… and I get to… and I get to…!”
There are so many things I want to learn (and unlearn) from loving him.