On Waking Up Early to Write

I have a twenty month old son. He’s the only reason in 20 months that I wake up early.

Twenty-three months ago, I wake up early nearly every day starving. Craving a honey crisp apple, I quickly quarter it and dip generously into the peanut butter jar propped on my enormous and growing belly.

On June 22nd, 2014, I wake up early bewildered by my first contractions. It’s five days past my due date. I wake my husband. “I think it’s happening.”

In the early morning, after giving birth, I lie exhausted in the hospital bed. The full moon outside the window hovers in the brilliant cityscape. Next to me, swaddled in a blanket, my son’s eyes are open.

It’s early, nearly two years later, and the first day of March. The sky is a wintry black. My son has not stirred yet. I have just a few moments to do what I woke up to do. I start writing.

 

 

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