wake up call

4 am. My beautiful, soft little boy, rocking gently in my arms. Go to sleep. I close my eyes and pray that he drifts off. He looks up at me and strokes my cheek. Sweet. He grabs hold of the front of my hair, right at the roots, I wonder to myself how I will look with a bald spot. He pulls, I try not to scream. Please don't wake up little girl. I begin to cough, that tickle in your throat, uncontrolable cough that pains your chest and rattles your entire being. Shit. Please don't wake up little girl, I need my sleep. It's in that moment I realize the problem. The problem of always fighting it.

I hear the rumble of little feet sprinting to my bedroom and I know that when she doesn't find me in bed she knows where to look. I take a deep breath, knowing that the day is set to begin for us now, at 4 am. There is nothing I can do about it. Just go with it. I cough. She runs in and smiles "Momma, thew you aw!". I smile, "Good morning little girl!".

She sings her brother our special "good morning song" and our day begins with a smile.