Some days (alright then, most days) it takes me an hour to wake up and get ready in the morning. There; I said it. This is not because of some high-maintenance skin routine or make-up regime or for important fashion choices I must make (ha!). No; it is simply because I am not a morning person.
Lest I sound all too lazy, I’ll throw in here that our mornings start at 6am or thereabouts, ten minutes either side, when our littlest one awakes. You’d think we’d be used to it by now but it’s still an abrupt way to start the day. I remain shell shocked and bleary-eyed every single time my baby’s cries sound a morning alarm. I need a little time to wake up, is all.
Still, my mornings are made more palatable in different ways: a hot shower, a clean flannel, the faint smell of Italian lemons in my cleanser, a cup of piping tea waiting for me made by an ever-patient husband who is much better at handling breakfast time with three five-and-unders than me while the rest of the street is still asleep. And now, added to that mix: a few moments of yoga too.