The Boy’s sleeping schedule is somewhat more flexible than we’d probably really like it to be. It probably has to do with that stubborn illness that’s been lingering.
Some days, he sleeps until eight; other mornings, he’s up at half-past five. It would be infinitely convenient if the former days tended to fall on the weekends and the latter during the work week, but infinity and convenience are rare companions. And in the end, isn’t convenience overrated?
Besides, when we’re the only two up — K already out of the house and L asleep — it’s reminiscent of the early weeks. Tiring weeks, but always magical in the morning.
“Magical morning my foot,” K might say. “I remember how you complained!”