Friday, July 12, 2013

Early to Rise

In a fit of inspiration I woke up early this morning and went for a jog. I'd be very proud of myself if this was something I did with any regularity, but it's not. 

The phrase "good morning" is pretty much a contradiction in terms for me but, that said, when you start to feel like your body is a step away from being a federal reclamation project, you occasionally summon the motivation to do healthy things for yourself. 
Is it? Is it really Mr. Postcard writer?

All of which is to say, I was up and out early and home early. When I arrived back at the house close to 6:15 the boy was still sleeping — he usually wakes between 6 and 6:30. Mrs. Blackwell was fast asleep too. It was a rare, rare moment when I was awake and the house was quiet. 

I got to thinking about how much louder life has become since Master Blackwell arrived and how this is not necessarily a bad thing. 

If we don't wake up first, nearly every morning Mrs. Blackwell and I are awoken by one of two sounds, either crying or playful cooing. 

We obviously prefer the latter but if he's crying more often than not it's easily remedied with a bottle or new diaper and we end up in a happy place in no time. 

Arrival in said happy place is accompanied by freqent squeels and streams of nonsensical babble. These would fall into the category of noises we're happy to hear, particularly first thing in the morning. 

A digression: when I wake before Mrs. Blackwell I make a concerted effort to be as quiet as I can. I walk softly, avoid creaky doors and in general try not to move too much. That said, I should dispense with these efforts because — no matter how much or little I might be doing — she wakes up as if I've been hammering nails into her night stand. 


I could do this, or read quietly beside my wife.
It really doesn't matter.




Meanwhile she sleeps through all manner of racket including just about every action movie we've ever rented and the the garbage truck, which rumbles just outside our window for 15 minutes every Friday morning. 

A second digression: No sooner did I write the previous sentence than did Mrs. Blackwell roll over to tell me that the sound of my typing woke her up. I suppose I shouldn't be typing in bed but, regardless, it's a good thing we're moving into a larger house (more on that next week). 

The upside of this arrangement is that, unlike me, Mrs. Blackwell gets over her grumpiness quickly and is in fact a morning person. 

Back on track here. When he's not squeaking, squealing, screaming, giggling or gurgling the little guy's noise creation emits mostly from his hands and pudgy knees smacking on the floor as he crawls along. The sounds of him banging any two objects together or any one object off the floor are quite common too. 

To be sure, our new normal sounds different than the old but it's also better and more lively. That said, it's nice to occasionally step back and enjoy a few minutes of quiet, that is until I wake up my wife. 

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