Watching my children wake up in the morning is like watching them be born again. I can only stand there, baffled and marveling at an agony I can only imagine. They looked a bit like reptiles when they were born, and in the morning they act like them, responding to the gentlest nudges and whispers with hoarse croaks, growls, and subhuman snarls. It's like watching dinosaurs hatch.
Occasionally they'll even roar - today the one who insisted on wearing her shoes to bed greeted her day by pounding a savage fanfare on the wall with her feet and howling primevally. Her sister rarely screams, but she does writhe like an eel in the upper bunk, and squashes her eyeballs shut as the first sensation of consciousness begins to assault her. It's an exaggerated performance, but she's not really faking it. On a dark November morning, I can sympathize.
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