I became a morning person by accident.
I used to have an hour's commute to a job which started at 8am; when I switched to a job a three minute walk away which started at 9am, I made a conscious decision not to change the time at which I got up.
It was lovely - suddenly I wasn't jolting out of bed at seven and rushing around, trying to get ready; suddenly I was making the choice to rise early, take my time preparing and spend the extra forty-odd minutes having a cup of tea and reading a book. When I left the house, I felt relaxed instead of harried.
Four or five years on, I'm still an early riser. At the moment, more than ever.
This is a beautiful morning.
Out the window, first thing, I could see a ribbon of mist running between the houses, marking the course of the river. There is sunlight and the grass and the flowers and the trees are all glistening with dew. The sky is perfectly blue. There isn't a single person to be seen.
I am itching to get out there. I can hardly wait to be fully mobile again. I'm sitting here imagining pulling my boots on and going for a walk along the riverbank or around the parks. I'm thinking about next year, when I can bundle the baby up in warm clothes and head outdoors, early, to look at the birds and the flowers and let Steve (the anti-morning person) have a nice lie in.
I'm remembering Easter holidays when I was little, visiting my grandparents in Helensburgh. They had an enormous garden filled with crocuses and pussy willows and squirrels and stripy stones they had gathered from beaches all over the world and I remember my sister and me running around and around out there, first thing, our feet getting wet with dew, while our grandmother watched us from the sun room and the rest of the family slept.
But for today, this year, I'm sitting in the bay window in the living room. Gizmo is dozing in a patch of sunlight beside me; Polly is fighting sleep as she sits on the windowsill and supervises the sparrows; the usually hyper baby is rolling around calmly beneath my belly button.
This will do. For this year, this will do.
Hi! I'm a 30-something stay-at-home feminist mother-of-one. I live in Aberdeen, Scotland with my toddler, boyfriend and two black cats. I talk a lot about this stuff: