Mornings

My alarm clock has changed from the latest hits on the country music station to a chorus of WAH, WAH, WAH and NAY, NAY, NAY. Each boy with his own distinct sound. Over are the days of rising when I please. I sigh, get out from under the warm covers and walk across the hall. The first of the morning light filters gently into the bedroom. It is just enough to pick up the gold tones of my boys' blond-ish hair. Their tears wiped away, I smile. They stare back and, slowly, they smile too. The kind of smile that makes your heart flutter. They recognize me, and for now, they're happy. 

Holding a bottle in each hand, it's time to feed. Often, there are four little hands gripped tight around my thumb and pinkie fingers. I stroke their rosy cheeks with a free digit and find myself repeatedly saying "I just love you guys". They glance at me and then back to their bottles. It's quiet in the room except for the rhythmic suckling coming from both of them. I enjoy the moments just watching them, studying all their features. They are growing, but still so helpless and vulnerable. The flood of responsibility washes over me. It's a big job. 

My thoughts get interrupted by the noise of sucking air coming from two empty bottles. I return my full attention to them and we proceed with our routine. A quite hilarious symphony of burps and toots follows. My mood lightens as I laugh, sometimes so hard that I have my own tears. Full bellies and clean diapers, the boys lay on the floor cooing and smiling. 

Our day has begun and I think to myself..."I really like my new alarm clocks".