The days are better than the nights. At least during the day there is coffee, and some sunshine, and the crisp fall air. I can breathe it in, startling and cool, and let it clear the fog of the night before. There’s no real use in tallying up the hours, it would just be discouraging. Better to take a slow too-hot sip of coffee, crack open my bible and journal, and write my way through to a fresh start.
The days are better than the nights. It feels natural to be awake during the day, with the sounds of the neighborhood and cars driving by. The world is wide awake with me. At work or on their way. The nights can be too quiet. Any sounds I hear belong to the night, they aren’t meant for me. I should be sleeping through them, waking only long enough to let those same night sounds lull me back to sleep in my big warm bed.
The days are better than the nights. Joey is a good baby. He wakes, wants me, and is easily comforted. It’s just that I contort my body to feed and pacify him, and clench my teeth anticipating the next time he’ll wake. Only half sleeping, I brace myself and tune my ear to the sound of his cute little grunts and snores. I’m finally back to sleep, though, not really.
Soon enough, morning comes, it takes me a few minutes and at least a half cup of black coffee to warm up to it, but soon after I’m able to shake the night and look forward to another beautiful challenging day. I can brave the night because the morning is coming.