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🌔🌕🌒
Mornings. They come way too early these days. Night feeds were exhausting, but we're over that stage now. Bailey sleeps well, and he’s a really good eater. He’s old enough that he’s sitting up independently, taking his first few tentative drunken steps, and only waking sporadically during the night. The relief we’ve both felt at being able to collapse into bed after his last feed, snuggle for a few minutes and then roll over, feet touching for contact and fall asleep is so real.
We used to sleep in the tightest of knots; Nick’s heat was such a balm early on, but my thermostat has shifted and now a little distance is a necessity. He just can’t go too far. Hence the feet. I have to know that he’s there.
Some nights, like last night, we still find ourselves waking anyway at one of Bailey’s old feed times, listening for a few minutes to the sounds of his soft breathing through the monitor. Nick reached over for me, pulled me over on top of him and kissed me deeply, the satisfied sigh that I could feel run all through his shoulders and down through his entire being at the thought of not actually having to get up and feed Bailey leading to toe curling kisses before he rolled me over onto my side. We made love slowly, the middle of the night quiet making everything felt soft and languorous, Nick kissing my shoulder and his arms holding me so close.
Somehow, mornings after nights like last night, even though they are arguably just as disturbed as before, I wake up with a satisfied stretch when Bailey starts wailing. Satisfied until I look over at my sleeping husband. He’s tousled, his auburn hair sticking out around his head on his pillow. We both made it back into pajama trousers after our impromptu lovemaking, but Nick apparently didn’t bother finding his t-shirt. I spy it, tucked half under his pillow and smile. I have no objections to waking to the sight of Nick’s broad chest, his furry pecs and soft stomach on display. There’s no time for that line of thinking as Bailey lets out another disgruntled screech at having been ignored for a whole minute and a half.
Nick, gods love him, could sleep through a freight train running with its horn on blast through a tunnel that amplifies its sound. Me, I wake at Bailey’s first stirring, so I give Nick the necessary shove to activate his slow and steady surfacing to human sentient level while I pad through to Bailey’s room, via the kitchen for a bottle and to flick the switch on the pre-programmed coffee machine.
I treasure his first feed in the mornings. He’s on solids, but we’ve not let go of that first bottle, and I think it’s maybe me rather than his preference. It’s become so fundamental to our bond, sitting in the snug armchair in his room, one of his tiny fists gripping the bottle while the other is wrapped around my finger, clenching and unclenching as he sucks. His skin is all warm from his sleep sack and the ever present baby smell of his hair. These moments are precious and they’re almost exclusively mine since I’m often the first up. The only exception to this is when I’ve pre-arranged with Nick the night before that I’d really appreciate the lie in, which he’ll do willingly as long as he knows before he goes to sleep. Alarm clocks simply do not affect him.
I sit in the dim glow from the night light in the hallway, allowing both of us the time to just come to the day slowly, listening to Bailey’s contented sighs and dropping soft kisses to the top of his head. The room, decked out to the nines with the space themed wallpaper Nick chose, and the sunny yellow paint on the trim that I insisted upon to make sure we weren’t skewing the colours. The armchair we’re cuddled in is a deep blue, and so cosy it’s been the site of many an overnight vigil when one of us has simply not been able to drag ourselves away, in the early days with a new baby. As we sit there this morning, I half expect Nick to show up in the doorway, but this is clearly one of those mornings where he needs ‘a few more minutes’ to surface. This means war, affectionately, so I let my mind drift as Bailey finishes up.
Once he’s done, and he’s changed into a clean sleepsuit, my favourite way to start the day begins. I take Bailey back to our room and place him unceremoniously on the still drowsy, still naked, chest of my husband. Bailey pounds on him with his ineffectual fingers until Nick is forced to open his eyes against the onslaught and the disgruntled expression is overtaken instantly by a look of overwhelming love that lights up his pretty face as he picks Bailey up off his chest and makes him fly above his head. The soft morning light dances a little through the blinds, onto the dramatic black of the accent wall behind the bed. I had been so sceptical; black in the bedroom, were we those people? But one too many episodes of Queer Eye- in which black did actually seem to make spaces bigger, not smaller, when used correctly- made us try it and it is a favourite feature now, not least for moments like these when the light is perfect.
Bailey lets out a delicious laugh and I leave them to it for a few minutes while I make tea for Nick and grab a cup of coffee for me. When I get back they’re rolling around the bed, Bailey giggling uproariously as Nick tickles the inside of his chunky thighs and Nick’s rubbing their noses together. I stand in the doorway to catch my breath as the emotions bubbling inside threaten to actually pop out of my chest. Then I put our mugs down on the bedside table and get involved.
I grab Bailey out from underneath Nick’s marauding hands and help him sit up, handing him one of the daft throw pillows that Nick insists make the bed look more aesthetic during the day but that we kick off at night because they’re not comfortable. It’s heavy for him, so he can’t wield it with any kind of force, but the grin on his face as he attempts to hit Nick in the chest with the pillow is worth it. I grab a pillow too and we launch a joint attack. Not to be outdone, Nick picks up one of his own and attempts a defense, but it’s fruitless against the two of us. Bailey throws his whole weight into a swing of the pillow in his chubby hand into Nick’s chest and Nick mocks falling over backwards in response to the blow. Bailey laughs and then, rather unfortunately for his prowess, in bringing his arm back to return the swing again, pulls himself entirely off balance, landing unceremoniously on his back on the softness of the bed. Thankfully, ego isn’t even close to developed yet and he thinks the entire move is hilarious as he giggles heartily, rolling back over to sit back up in the laborious way that he does. He goes back in for another swing, meanwhile I’ve been tickling Nick’s ribs as a distraction and he’s cackling so hard that when Bailey does land another blow with the pillow he truly is unsuspecting.
Nick picks Bailey up and, lying back against the pillows on his back, puts Bailey so that his chest is on his own upturned feet. Bailey laughs again as he flies on Nick’s feet, his arms outstretched as Nick uses his still impressive abs to lift and raise Bailey through the air above him, making whooshing noises that make Bailey giggle. This goes on and on as Bailey babbles “‘gain! ‘gain!” and Nick pretends to be exhausted, almost lets him collapse before recovering at the last second and pushes him up into the air again.
After a while we all dissolve into laughter, falling onto the duvet. Nick and I are propped on our elbows and I kiss him over Bailey's head, melting into a smush as his little tiny hands reach up so he's got one on each of our faces. I'm bursting with the feelings that swell in the wake of all this happiness.
It’s so simple. No toys. No games. No brain or fine motor skill enhancing tools. Just the three of us, in our pajamas, being silly and free and ridiculous.
Mornings are the best.
🌤️☀️🌤️