For the past 18 months, I've awakened each morning in the same way -- to the sight of a sleep-rumpled little boy standing by my bed, clutching his beloved blankie.
He waits silently until I open my eyes, then raises both arms for a boost into our bed. We drowse, his fingers entangled in my hair.
Lately, these early-morning visits have become sporadic. Some mornings he appears; on others, I find him sitting quietly on the couch, patiently waiting for the household to rouse.
I used to bemoan being awakened at 6:30 a.m. Now I dread the day these bedside visits stop.
My baby's burgeoning independence unfortunately coincides with his sister's impending entrance into kindergarten.
One no longer wants to snuggle in the morning; the other is about to don her brown Mary Janes and stride into a new phase of life.
My role is changing -- no, being changed for me -- and I find I no longer know my lines.
