Oh hey, Tuesday morning
At 6:30 our son opens his bedroom door and my husband sits up in bed. It’s his turn for the breakfast shift. I used to sleep longer on his days, but now I keep my eyes open. I trip out of bed, tired from staying up late, my husband and I wrapped up like a pretzel in bed, talking, deciding not to talk, then talking some more. I sit in the chair by the window and tug open the curtains. The sky is barely light. I meditate for 20 minutes—the girl who has always hated mornings, carving a new relationship with the time of day that feels like an ill-fitted outfit. I keep doing this—tripping out of bed to meditate—and I keep doing it because morning is teaching me things and I’ve always been a happy student, and when I open my eyes after meditating the sun is coming up behind the neighbor’s roof. Later, after I’ve packed my kids’ lunches, I take a shower, and while I’m in the shower I see my kids walk into the bathroom with their bike helmets on, just back from their morning ride with Papi, and they deposit two flowers each next to the bathroom sink. I brush my teeth and think about what a wild week I’ve just come off of—the anniversary of my diagnosis—and wow I didn’t realize what a shitstorm of emotion that would bring. I look at those flowers while I brush my teeth, and the borders around my life feel so small, for just a few minutes, before I step out my front door into the great big world.