Through a fortuitous series of events I ate breakfast alone yesterday, twice, (I was hungry), and it was Glorious.
For the first 6 months of W&P's lives I ate breakfast alone, once they'd fallen asleep for their morning nap and while Nye was in bed after being up all night with one or other or both of them. It was when I read emails, caught up with blogs, sat and stared into the middle distance revelling in the silence, it was the only time of day that I spent alone and awake. Then they started eating breakfast too and while Nye was asleep we would throw food around the kitchen and yell together, it was great fun. I didn't miss breakfast alone but I did miss Nye. Then two months ago the most wonderful thing happened, the girls started sleeping through the night. (Or rather, we started ignoring them when they woke in the night. Semantics.) and Nye started coming to bed at the same time as me and most wonderfully, getting up at the same time as me and we all started having breakfast together. Four people around a table, throwing cereal and yelling together. A proper family breakfast like I don't remember since I was little and staying with my grandparents at the same time as my cousins, the kind I never thought I'd enjoy because I'm Not A Morning Person. But you know what? I love it.
Except. Yesterday was kind of amazing. Breakfast alone, with no one yelling and no one throwing food is sort of a treat. You know, just once in a while.
Photos by Isabelle Bertolini, K_ _ _ _ and Caroline Hancox, via BKFST (I love this blog.)