I wake on my own time, when my pregnant bladder demands. I doze some more. I decide to rise. I check blood pressure, shower, take my morning meds, and putter my way down to the kitchen, pausing to retrieve the two Boppy slipcovers from the dryer and to place one on the pillow which waits in the silent nursery. I go into the garage, which is deliciously cold, and retrieve a Honeycrisp apple from the old wooden box which serves as our root cellar. Diced, it goes into a little pot with oats and raisins and a dash of cinnamon.

Once I'm fed, I put on tallit and tefillin and spend a little bit of time with the siddur. This morning I am drawn to the first two lines of the ashrei, which translate to,"Happy are those who dwell in Your house; they will praise you forever, selah." The small being in my womb seems excited by these lines; the whole time I'm reciting them, he's twitching and kicking and squirming around. Or maybe he's just enjoying the infusion of blood sugar from my breakfast, who can say? I stick with the ashrei for a while, though, enjoying contemplating what it means to dwell in God's house. I am in God's house. My son is, too.

And then I settle in to my desk to prepare for today's two classes: a session of Torah Journeys with R' Shefa Gold and a study session with one of my classmates on parashat Toldot seen through feminist lenses.

How many mornings like this one remain to me?