Thump. Creeaaak.
Immediately Sam's mothering sensors were on high alert. No… Feebly she clung to the last remnants of peaceful oblivion as her internal alarm threatened to drag the rest of her still-slumbering senses out of a deep sleep and into consciousness.
It was no good. Already, automatically, she was leaning over the edge of the bed, squinting her eyes open to peer blearily into the bassinet. Still asleep! No four-month-old child of hers had ever slept through the night.
Relieved, she lay back down on her pillow, but she knew better than to relax. Listening to the telltale creaks coming from another part of the house, she braced herself for what was coming - when she remembered. Saturday. It's Saturday. Instantly she was at ease. She burrowed into her pillow with a long, happy sigh before rolling over to grin at the back of Andrew's head.
He lay curled on his side, the blankets that covered him rising and falling steadily as he slept on, blissfully ignorant of what was about to happen.
Almost gleefully Sam snuggled deeper under the covers and closed her eyes again. Still smiling, she listened to the familiar warning signs. The pitter-patter of little feet tumbling down the hallway…the floor's sharp creak of alarm followed by a hesitant silence as the little head tried to peek through the narrow crack in the door…the sudden sweep of pale grey light as little hands pushed the door open…the final hesitation in the doorway before the little feet tip-toed confidently forward in a belated and totally failed attempt at stealthiness.
Sam stayed absolutely still and mentally followed the little morning drama she knew was unfolding on the other side of the bed.
There would be the hot, moist breath on your cheek, the pause as the little head cocked judiciously sideways, scrutinising you with scientific deliberation. Then the little finger stretching forward, the sudden clumsy poke to your closed eye, the rapid peeling open of your eyelid, and then -
"Whu -!" She felt Andrew jerk beside her and sit up in alarm. A second of silence was followed by a stiff exhalation as he collapsed back onto his pillow.
"Morning, daddy!"
Andrew let out a low groan. "It's not even six yet, son."
Ignoring this boring adult triviality, the little voice announced loudly, "I hung'y! Time b'eakfast?"
"All right, shhh!" The bed sagged as, with another muffled groan, Andrew swung his legs off the edge and sat audibly rubbing his face. "We mustn't wake Mummy and baby."
"I hung'y," persisted the little voice, this time in a deafening stage whisper.
"Understood." Andrew threw the covers back and stood up. Sam heard his usual loud yawn and long stretch, then finally he whispered, "Come on, then. Let's go find some breakfast."
The floor creaked again as much larger feet shuffled forward. Sam cracked her eyes open just in time to see her little boy leading her big boy out of the bedroom by the hand before Andrew reached back and quietly pulled the door closed behind them.
With a sigh of contentment Sam nestled under the covers, grabbing Andrew's pillow and hugging it against her stomach. A warm bed, a dark room, a sleeping baby… With no effort whatsoever she she drifted back into deep, delicious sleep, raising silent prayers of gratitude for her two beautiful children, her patient husband, and most of all, for SATURDAYS.