Ella is a “daddy’s girl.” She loves her daddy. I mean it, she L-O-V-E-S her daddy.
When will Daddy be home from work?
Will you sit with me on the couch and hold me Daddy?
Claire, you ride with Mommy, I want to ride with Daddy?
Daddy, sit next to me during dinner!
Daddy’s home, Daddy’s home, hey Claire, Daddy’s home! (imagine loud shrill voice!)
Get the picture?
Day and night, she’s her daddy’s girl. Except, except for a brief time each morning.
Ella is our morning bird. Ever since I can remember she’s gotten up well before sunrise and consequently, so have I. Occasionally I bemoan the fact that Ella’s body clock has yet to reset itself so she’ll wake a little later each day. But, the truth is, I really wouldn’t change it now. Because, in those last moments of darknes before the dawn, Ella is mine.
Each morning as I sit in my chair next to the fire-place, sip my coffee and read the daily Mass scripture readings, I also wait.
I wait for the moment when Ella slips from under her covers, wanders into the living room and crawls onto my lap. It’s a ritual. It’s our ritual. And I love it. In those quiet moments she’s still my baby girl. I hold her, tell her how much she is loved and quietly pray for her in my heart. In those early hours of the morning she’s mine, and I treasure every minute of it.
I know Ella will probably always be a daddy’s girl. And that’s ok.
I a;so know one day soon, Ella is going to start sleeping in.
But, until then…
She’s all mine in the morning and I wouldn’t trade that for the world.