baby, I think you’re cute and funny.

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I hear the words play out, at five am, “we might not have any money. But we’ve got our love to pay the bills. Maybe I think you’re cute and funny . . . ” and the song stops as he turns the alarm off and sneaks noiselessly out. And the girls and I keep on dreaming.

But sometimes, I can roll away and sneak out before their eyes crack open to the streaming sun through our bedroom window, and sometimes when I do he is already standing there in the kitchen. Skillet bubbling with butter, water boiling for the coffee he makes for me each  morning, and with a smile on his face because quiet mornings fill him up.

And I just want to soak him in. The way he gives to me with my coffee made just right, a breakfast prepped, and a house all straightened up. How he knows my favorite cup, the place to put the cozy blankets on the couch so we can cuddle in upon first waking, and how he leaves huge glasses of water filled up for me all over.

And if I could freeze that first moment he turns around, surprised to see me childless… I would bottle it up and pour it on me during every hard day, during ever 3pm. His eyes have grown older and twinkly, his laugh lines fill immediately, and his arms beg. A moment free of little limbs, tiny voices “mama, up with you. Papa cuddle me in!” where a hug is unencumbered, uninterrupted, and on our own terms. A moment that happened a thousand- million- endless times before the years with babies, a moment I took for granted so often, a Moment of “I want to kiss you. So I’ll kiss you.” that now holds monumental weight and sits atop a mountain top of laundry/nursing/bouncing/reading/scheduling.

This guy gets it. He lays it on thick at every opportunity and gives endlessly.

Charlie, the times for those endless kisses will come back. But for now, I’ll hold tight to morning moments with you, coffee hot, and hugs tight and long.

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