Fifteen Minutes In The Morning

Before six.

I finish my bath.
His turn.

He gets out of the bed, where he's brought her to snuggle.
My turn.

The door is closed.
I hear the sound of water running.

I hope it doesn't wake her.
She smells like morning and
love and
curls and
talks sometimes in her sleep and
then giggles and
worry (because I can't live without her) and
urine (because you don't change the diaper when you want to snuggle)
for
fifteen minutes in the morning.

His shower is over.
His turn.