It’s official, I’m a parent. This night owl is starting to appreciate mornings. And I don’t mean hanging-in-the-kitchen-with-C.-while-he-eats-his-yogurt-and-blueberries mornings. I’m talking a half-hour-before-sunrise mornings where I have the quiet house all to myself.
The past few days, I’ve woken up at about 5:30 and holy crap I’ve achieved a lot before many people are swinging their legs out of their beds. I can enjoy my espresso and read the news without interruption, run west (sans stroller) along dirt roads so I can visit nearby horses and see the mountains in the distance, hit up the grocery store and have the aisles and check-out dude all to myself, and, most importantly, write.
It’s always quiet where we live, on a cul-de-sac in the Mojave desert. But, for me, the mornings are extra peaceful.