Helena has insisted on waking at 5 am every day this week. Though I find myself indulging in little post-lunch siestas, I'm feeling a little deprived on the sleep front, particularly as I'm struggling to keep on top of work deadlines.
This morning I woke with her little face staring at mine, mere centimetres away, again at 5 am. I was hopeful when she crawled into bed with us that I might enjoy another hour of slumber before she pulled me by the hand to come play with her. Only 10 minutes later she was squirming.
Her pillow, which she carries with her in the early morning, was neatly centred between the adult heads. Her teddy bear, in repose on said pillow, between our warm bodies. Helena tucks him in carefully with her own blanket and a kiss before pulling the duvet back up over our shoulders and wriggling out down the middle to the foot of the bed.
Minutes later she's at my side again. "Fix it," as she struggles to replace the dust jacket on her book. My sleepy fingers fumble a little but she's pleased to finally see the book intact. She looks at me, waiting. "J[e n]'ai pas capable read it toute seule."
So she leads me by the hand to the spot she cleared on the floor outside her room. A blanket to sit on, a pile of books to the side. And we read about Kitten, and Green Sheep, and Bootsie Barker, and others before she helps me make coffee an hour later.