Saturday, July 23, 2011

Peak Hours

I peak at 4 AM.  I have snuck in enough sleep between the tossing and turning to lighten the heaviness in my eyelids to warrant calling a truce on the battle.  I climb quietly out of bed, trying to tiptoe around the creakiest spots on the floor so as not to wake the baby during my holiest of hours, and make my nest.  I sit in the middle of the couch, because there is no one I must share it with, and grab our softest throw and I do what I want for an hour in complete silence. 

 I can sit in a dark room, I can surf online without little baby hands tugging on the laptop screen, I can enjoy bad sci-fi movies without any comments about how stupid they are (I know they're stupid, that's why I like them).  The point is, I can sit in the quiet and sip my flat, room temperature nightstand soda and not have to take care of the needs of anyone else.  I don't feel pressured to be washing that bit of dishes or tossing in a load of laundry.  I don't have to stave off the guilt of being sedentary because this is my stolen hour.

  I grasp it is my palm, fingers clasped tightly around it, not letting it escape.  I need this one for my collection.  I toss it in the mason jar with the half-hour of bedtime stories, the 20 minute sprinting cleaning sessions, and the 20 hours spent worrying.  This one shines brighter than the rest and gives off enough glow to make the rest seem brighter as well.