The alarm goes off.
I grope around to find the phone and turn off the irritating sound. Actually I’ve been awake for a while, just trying to go back to sleep and hoping it’s Sunday after all. I roll over and hope some more. It could be Sunday you know.
A few minutes later, my 7 months old also wakes up. Looks around, spots me, cracks a smile, and tries to get up.
She can’t really get up by herself yet, but she makes a brave effort. Rests herself on one elbow and pushes herself up. She’s half way there, but topples over again. No problem. Just go at it again...gotta get up. Finally I help her and she’s sitting up now. Impatient to get going, eager to live another day.
I drag myself out of bed and head for the shower.
I must have been like that once; just over 42 years ago I must have been a bundle of energy too. Eager to take on everything, to experience every day like an adventure.
If growing up is about making progress, there is some progress I could've done without.