Morning : a non fiction narrative

A sharp thud between her shoulder blades and her eyes spring open. Then another, and another. Violently tearing her from the deep, dark solitude she escapes to in the wee hours of morning. 

The searing pain lingers as she realises where she is and what on earth is going on. Toddler feet. Toddler feet jabbing her back like some kind of blunt weapon. "OW OW! STOP IT, STOP HIM!" She attempts to say with some kind of authority, although in her half awake state she has little chance of sounding coherent. Turning to face her attacker, sweeping his legs back under the doona in one swift, surprisingly coordinated movement, she takes in his face. His lovely face, smiling, sleeping. 

What might he be dreaming? Perhaps her vertebra were a trampoline or a splashy puddle? Maybe all that remained on her back was the ruins of a magnificent sandy masterpiece? 

Smiling to herself, she pulls that warm little body close, breathing in his sweet toddler morning breath, his hair and the faint smell of laundry powder on his flannel pyjamas. Her heart swells. 

She forgives her attacker.

*written as part of Blog Fast- http://www.katesaysstuff.com/2013/07/the-blogfast-club-morning.html?m=1