The next morning, Sawyer was up and at "em at six forty-five and I rolled out of bed feeling like someone had drained me of blood overnight. When Sawyer turned on every light in the house before I had even put on my slippers, I was able to see, once I pried my eyes open against the bright light, that no vampires were present after all. The French press did have an allure similar to that of the fabled bloodsuckers, so I headed that way.
I put on the kettle and dropped four slices of bacon into the frying pan as Sawyer began one of the few periods of individual play he would undertake for the day. Soon, I’d be wrist-deep in kinetic sand and baby doll hugs, but for now, it was just me, my grogginess, and a gratefulness that my toddler liked bacon as much as I did. Most mornings, it was all h
