He breathes in the day at the same time I do. The new air floating down as the white sun stretches up.
I breathe deeper and he swims, somersaults, to a rhythm of his own making. A long stretch here, a graceful bounce there.
And I feel his every movement in a way unlike anything I’ve felt before. His dance is part of me, yet already so much his own.
I whisper a lullaby as the half-light of sunrise penetrates the blinds. My belly ripples in response like a gentle wave at sea.
And together, my son and I, we greet the day and each other before the world wakes up and interrupts.
Energized each 7 a.m. by a sacred morning routine.