For the better part of our marriage, our mornings have been spent in silence. Now and then, morning starts with screaming and cursing before coffee.
But, sometimes, after alarms, before first light, The Mister and I, with languid bodies and barely lucid minds, find one another in bed. I slide my bottom toward his hips and he scoops me in until I am burrowed in the heat of his body. We mesh easily. I skim my feet across his calves and against the soft, warm sheets. He clutches me in intervals with heavy sighs, breathing me in.
Kids are waken, trips to the bathroom are made, cats cry for food, the dog beats her tail against the floor until someone opens the door.
We return to bed. “Ahh.”
I rest my head in the crook of his arm, he kisses my hair. We nuzzle and stroke one another, finding familiar textures in each reach. We lie there as long as we can, coaxing our bodies into rising.
Yes, like bunnies.
It’s a kind of intimacy that fills the gaps between sex. It’s a demonstration of devotion and belonging. On a lazy day, those tender moments might turn into more, but today it was a happenstance that turned random Tuesday into special Tuesday.
“Would you like me to make coffee?” I asked on special Tuesday.
Cuddles so good, your wife volunteers brewing coffee? Yes, it’s possible.