Sunday mornings

It's Sunday morning.  Early Sunday morning.  I'm up to make sure that I can get in a bowl of cappuccino before everyone wakes up expecting their hot breakfast.  My body feels older than it did yesterday at this same time.  So, maybe that's why my mind wanders back to a few years ago?  I find myself wistful for the things I took for granted a decade ago.

I remember when Sunday morning was a complete stranger to me.  Back when Saturday night went well past midnight, and the next morning didn't exist.  When I slept until well into the afternoon, woke up long enough to make sure I was home, then fell back to sleep until Monday morning. 

Ahhh... the good old days. 

Back when I could go bra-less without worrying I would tickle my navel.  (Of course, back then, they bounced instead of swung.)  Back when I ate warm food because I didn't have to cut anyone else's food up first.  Back when I wore "cute" clothes that no one used for a napkin/tissue/leash.  Back when it took days instead of hours to make a full load of laundry.  Sometimes, especially on these early mornings, I miss back then.  I miss the high metabolism of those days and wish I had taken more full advantage of them.  There would have been a lot more bacon cheeseburgers - that's for sure.  I miss the silence of those days.  The sound of nothing would be so welcome right about now.

If I had known that I would spend the rest of my years up this early on a Sunday morning, I might have tried for a few more afternoons.  I would still be here this morning, of course, but the memory of then wouldn't be so far back.