6am. The bedroom is still dark, curtains doing Milo has been up. For a while, judging by the cartoon theme song already looping in the living room. He wants you to watch cartoons. He wants to tell you about a dream involving a dragon and a fire truck. He wants all of this right now. You don't have a co-parent to tag in. No one to nudge and whisper "your turn." Just you, the pillow you're not ready to leave, and the little boy who thinks 6am is basically noon. This is your Saturday. It's loud and early and a little sticky. And it's yours.