My little guy comes into my bed usually about ten minutes before the alarm is set to go off. He is a much cuter substitute to the clock/radio. My husband has long since left for work so he nestles right in on Daddy’s side of the bed and tells me that he is “so comfy – cozy”. Sometimes he lies there quietly easing into the morning. Other times he studies my face and touches all those interesting markers that come with thirty five years. He traces my eyebrows and puts his little pointer finger in a scar left behind by the chicken pox. He counts the little brownish spots; some branded on by the sun others just markers from birth. He is usually very cute and gentle but I draw the line when he squeezes my nose shut or gives my eyes a little Joan Rivers adjustment. That’s my signal that it is time to face the morning puffy eyes and all.