The worst thing in the world is the shower. Not the actual "showering" part, but that annoying hiss it gives when turned on at first. Especially when you're up early like me.

I hate how it wakes him up and he comes waddling in, sans his glasses and rubbing his eyes like a little kid. As I start to shed my pajamas, he stands there in his socks and tighty-whiteys, still wiping his eyes. Not sure if he's noticed yet or not, he gives a small whimper to me. Then it's my turn to waddle over to him.

I always do the same thing. I wrap my arms around his pale figure and rest my head against his. Every morning he does the same thing: sigh happily and snuggle closer. I always feel maternal when doing this.

When I start to pull away to shower, he grabs me and whines. That's when I pull him closer, but slowly push him backwards to the bedroom. Finally giving up, again as a tired child would, he collapses on the bed and snuggles to a blanket he thinks is me.

My only coherent thought every morning is: My Mark.

By the time I literally crawl out of the shower, he's sitting cross-legged on the bed, still in only socks and underwear and grinning. Sometimes he yawns, sometimes he doesn't. It all depends on what took place in that bed last night. I blow him a kiss and move around the room to get dressed -he simply watches.

After I'm dressed and ready, we go to the kitchen to eat. April's not here, Collins isn't here, Benny and Roger are the types who like to sleep in, so it's just us.

We share a small bowl of cereal and sometimes, in the middle of chewing a bite, he'll steal a kiss from me, taking some of the cereal with him. He'll crunch it down then grin at me.

Over the next few hours, while waiting for the others to wake, we'll kiss and cuddle on the couch, softly whispering cutsie "I love you"s and "No I love you more"s. It's funny to think-

"Maureen?" Joanne said, standing in the doorway of their bedroom. "What are you doing? It's still early. Come back to bed."

Maureen looked behind her at Joanne, then down at the paper, where she had written everything down. Mark. "Nothing, baby, I'll be there in a minute." Maureen mumbled, watching Joanne leave. She skipped a line and continued.

Then I look at what I have now, after I gave all that up, and I smile. I miss it, but...

It's all okay to see Joanne standing there in a old, over-sized "STEELERS" football t-shirt and socks.

It almost makes me miss the old tighty-whiteys.