My eyes are sealed shut and I sense the movement of his warm little body as he starts to stir. He moves a quarter turn as he squirms, his feet in my rib cage, his head in his dad's armpit, making his grumpy morning noises as if someone is forcing him to wake up. I assure you, no one is!
I can see daylight through my eyelids but I cling to the hope that he'll drop back into sleep, although this has never happened before.
His movements grow as he flips onto his belly and then up on to all fours. He turns round, kicking me in the chin and using his dad's face to steady himself. I know this because I hear the grunt from my husband.
A shadow looms over me and I feel a string of wetness land softly on my cheek: his dribble. I know he's watching my face closely for signs of life.
I open my eyes and he smiles in delight as he pushes up on to his knees.
"Eyo lully" he says. I can't help smile too even though I see 5.30am on the clock.
"Hello Brendan". Not much more than a croak.
In an instant his knee is in my groin and his sharp little elbow stabs my boob as he crawls over me. I steady him as he swivels round to jump down from the bed with a quiet thud. I've shut my eyes again. My husband has gone back under.
The duvet shifts as he searches under it to find my hand. He grips my fingers in his hot little fist and I open my eyes again. Pointing to the stair gate he starts pulling at my arm with an insistent moan.
"Okay okay, I'm coming".
I throw on a jumper and he holds my hand as he counts his way down the stairs. We turn into the lounge, his face lighting up as he beelines for the toy garage. Always his first port of call.
I stagger to the kettle, yawning.
And so our day begins.