feeling weary

It's Saturday lunch time, and I haven't had treatment this week.

I feel entitled to some energy, some clarity of thought, some break from the relentless fatigue.

But I'm just worn out today.

So when do I know I've got more get-up-and-go? First thing in the morning Huz and I hear Soul through the baby monitor that's still in his room. We can often hear him chatting away to himself or laughing, and when I go down to get him he's cuddling his teddies, or playing with his blankets - kicking his feet up into the air inside his sleeping bag.

And that's when I know. If I hear Soul and feel like jumping straight out of bed to get him then I must be feeling more like my old self. The me who loved to get up at 6am and go for a walk outside before coming into breakfast and to get the family up for the day. The me who used to work (from home) from 5.30-8.30am everyday at the kitchen table.

I love early mornings. 

The whole day is ahead and is delicious with possibilities. It's quiet and full of anticipation and my mind is at its best: planning and hoping and thinking through the day.

This chemo has made me understand Huz who is definitely not a morning person. You know the type: the alarm (or wife) goes off and the not-morning person will groan, turn over in bed and hide under the covers until absolutely the last second possible.

Now that's me too.

The primal desire for more rest, more sleep, more time in those cozy covers overpowers. 

The boys, (and in particular) True is my alarm, coming in at 7am on the dot and not often a minute later. My favourite mornings are the ones they are happy to sneak into bed next to me wrapping their legs and arms around me to keep warm, and talking in semi-whispered tones.

I love that time to be close, and have my favourite people near. Before the demands of the day get in the way and no one can find even one set of uniform pants to go to school, and there's a time out and only weet bix for breakfast instead of rice bubbles due to some offence. Before the crazy hits.

I like the quiet time before that.

But lots of time it's messy. Wee on the toilet seat and bathroom floor. Boys who make forts in their bedroom waaayyyy before morning. Arguments over who was playing with that toy first, or which of the older boys turn it is to have 'special time' with Soul in his cot. It's the messy and the beautiful intertwined, and I don't think they could be separated even if I tried.

Bottom line. I love my people. They're the best.