Morning Unfolding Into Another
A soft, short poem painting today's mind capturing moments
Before my eyes blink open, I take in the first breath of this morning, a day I have never seen before. I linger there, half dreaming, half awake, waiting for the calling cue to migrate from the warmth of my bed to my feet grazing the carpet floor. I sit up, stretch, move slowly, letting my body catch up to the day. Down the stairs I go to prepare Sage’s sippy cup of milk, one milliliter of Mommy’s Bliss multivitamin, a careful syringe droplet swirled into the cold white liquid. I pass the back door and notice the cold white ice coating our patio furniture, a frozen stillness holding the night in place. I let OG out briefly so he can turn one small corner of the ice yellow, then right back in as the frigid air taps my face and toes. I should have put socks on. One, two, three, four, I count the stairs in my head as the tabs begin to open. I need to add juice to the grocery list. Did I cancel that subscription? I should place that order. And oh yeah, reply to that text. The laundry needs to be switched over. It is far too early for all of these thoughts. And yet, before I know it, there are fifty, sixty, seventy things clamoring for attention before 7 a.m. even strikes. Sage is awake, greeting me with a squinty smile as I turn on the light. I switch off the sound machine, power down the humidifier, and pause at the sight of him kneeling on his big boy bed. It still feels wild to witness. My husband wakes and enters the room, laughter filling the air without effort. Play has entered the chat, threading itself effortlessly through the rest of our day. Breakfast follows. Number puzzles and matching games. Rainbow waves and small victories. Fussy fits that rise and fall quickly. Time outside in the snow. Snacks and Super Simple Songs that loop again and again because favorites must be honored. And somehow, it feels like time has swept me into a rhythm that looks unproductive from the outside, but is anything but. Because I am doing the sacred work of raising this brilliant, beautiful, bold, brown-eyed boy. I get lost in his eyes, his sweet smile, the tiny toes I tickle until his giggles pull laughter from me too. As I lay beside him, breathing in the Shea Moisture Deep Conditioner lingering in his damp, curly Qs, as night falls again I cannot help but think, This is the only place I ever want to be. My son. And me.
