I am not a morning person.

I really enjoy the feel of an early morning, if I wake on my own. But those early morning experience number few in my lifetime. Most of my life has been spent answering to an alarm clock and I’ve largely disliked it. So I stay close to the moon. I cannot deny the strong pulse between the moon and I. I could never go to bed early for the moon and I are too much in love.

But babies are tricky.

Archer usually wakes up multiple times in the night. He insists that he must drink milk at all hours. After one especially exhausting night, I lay awake in bed, feeling irritated with the postpartum insomnia that slays me waking whenever I hear a noise at the night.

And Archer makes a lot of noise.

By the time the clock hand struck 6, I was out of bed. I pulled on workout clothes and tucked my squawkling offspring into his stroller. 

Fine, I said. We are going for a walk.

That first morning I witnessed my first sunrise in I don’t know how long.

Archer enjoyed it, too.

When we got home later, Taylor and Arrow were beginning to stir. In minutes I was dressed for the day, found time to eat with my family, and have a real family prayer before heading off to work. This time I was not running out the door.

That night I thought what a lovely day that had been. It’s only too bad the moon and I are so close…

The next morning at 6 am, Archer began his squawks. One day had passed and now he was a new man.

Get up, get dressed, go walking.

Meditate, pray, soak in the beauty of the Earth.

It was awesome.

This became a regular routine that lasted a full week. We then drove up to Canada for an extended period of time, and it threw off our morning routine. Now back at home, I haven’t yet resumed the sunrise walks, but Archer is patiently up each morning, squawking loudly for the entire household to hear, waiting for Mama to retrieve him. I do not, because I am too tired from staying up with the moonlight.

But maybe tomorrow. Hopefully, tomorrow.