"Morning early riser, couldn't you sleep?"
So he greeted me this morning. He's keeping an eye on me- sitting me down, pulling information out of my brain, making me think carefully about what has to be done now, and what I'd prefer to do now. What I can delegate up, what I can delegate down.Whether I'm sleeping. What's going on at home.
He keeps joking that I'll have my own office and department by the summer; I keep telling him I'll be Queen of the Universe by the time I'm 30. He tells me I have a lot of common sense for such a little person; I threaten to punch him for patronising me. I might be small, I tell him, but I can hit hard and pull it out of the bag when I need to. He knows that, he reassures me. He has every faith I'm not going to mess up.
We tease each other, bounce ideas off each other, keep an eye on each other. I value these moments. The half an hour of quiet conversation when the office is nearly empty at 8am. The offer of proper coffee from the little shop across the way- every morning, despite the fact he knows I've given it up for Lent. The giggly conversations while others look on in bafflement. The times he goes to put his hand on my knee and stops himself, or when I go to rest my head on his shoulder before realising I really shouldn't.
It's something. It's always been a thing. And at the same time, it's not a thing. It's nothing at all, actually.
I'm happy- tired, and busy, and stressed, but happy. And having support from all sides- and knowing I'm loved by a multitude of people- helps. And A. Always A. A, who makes me forget about this and who needs me as much as I need him. A, who deserves only the best things.
Is it any wonder I wake early?