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It was early. It was too early yet there Michael was, being pulled from his sleep by a tiny finger poking his cheek. He groaned sleepily, grabbing the small hand in his larger one, pulling it away from his face. Blinking a few times, he adjusted to the light and saw his son perched on his stomach, peering down at him with his wide, blue eyes. In any other situation he would've been annoyed by being woken up at such an early hour, but he couldn't resist the way his tiny copy looked at him.
Giving him a tired smile, Michael pulled him down to lay next to him and his son quickly found the perfect spot at his side, his head on his shoulder as he looked up brightly at his father.
"Good morning, little man," Michael whispered, careful to not wake you as you slept soundly with your back to the pair.
"You said we could make breakfast for Mommy," he said, mimicking Michael's soft whisper and completely disregarding a greeting, clearly very serious about his order of business.
"I did, didn't I?" Michael said, rubbing his tired eyes and his son watched him intently, always fascinated by the things Michael did.
"Uh huh," the boy agreed, climbing off of Michael and grabbing his hand, weakly trying to pull him up as he climbed off of the bed. "C'mon," he pleaded.
Michael climbed out of the bed carefully, trying not to wake you up from the sudden shift in weight on the mattress. He grabbed a shirt, quickly tugging it over his head and followed his son as his tiny legs hurriedly carried him to the kitchen. He beat Michael there, already setting up his small stool in front of the counter so that he could reach.
"I want fruit loops," he said to Michael when he walked in, seeing his son trying to reach for the cabinet but miserably failing.
"What happened to making breakfast?" Michael asked, grabbing the cereal box and handing it to him. He opened another cabinet, getting out two bowls.
"Thats for Mommy, not us," he declared as if Michael had asked the most obvious question ever. It made the man chuckle, retrieving the milk from the fridge.
"I see," he said, letting his son carefully pour cereal for the both of them into each of the bowls, but pouring the milk himself. There had been too many accidents in the past, Michael had learned his lesson about letting his son pour liquids.
Lifting his small body up onto the counter, Michael set his son down and sat next to him, their legs dangling off of the counter as they both ate their cereal. He reached over, showing his son how to properly hold his spoon, silently nodding in approval as he chewed.
