You, awake too early, and me, too impatient

I don't know why I even try to carry an asleep child from the bedside rocker to the living room couch so I can journal or do some other writing or reading. So selfish of me. You always wake up, thwarting my multi-tasking plans.

This time I intended merely to capture with my pen the glow of my rare rocking chair star-gazing at your repose, you so easily comforted with a little snuggle.

And now you should see the paper I write on through your wide-awake play, so crinkled from my 'fight,' handwriting atrocious, stray marks everywhere, as I race to put words to paper before you snatch it again.