From somewhere deep within dreamland I hear the distinctive cry of my eighteen month old baby,” Maaaaaa Maaaaaa.”
I rouse and stumble to her room, pluck her out of the crib, and gently lay her down on the changing table for a fresh diaper. Slowly we make our way down the stairs to the fridge.
Kolby desperately cries and moans, “milka, milka, mama,” over and over. I grab her sippy cup and pour the kiddie liquid gold. She claps and squeals in delight. Then I put her on the counter and we grind the beans, and make fresh Starbucks coffee.
The house is quiet. It’s a stillness so fragile, soon to be broken by the clambering steps of the older kids and daddy down the stairs.
With my treasured cup of coffee in hand, I hold Kolby close as we move to the sofa for morning snuggles.
I take my first sip…”Ahhhh” while Kolby slurps her sippy cup in delight.
I look at her and crack up at the absurdity of our morning addictions. I need my coffee and Kolby craves her milka milka with a fierceness that border lines cranky. We are two peas in a pod, grasping our cups like they are a life force.
But today Kolby has a treat for me.
She places her chubby little hands on my face and cradles it. She looks deeply into my eyes and says, “Happy… Kolby happy mama.”
Did my tiny little girl just tell me how she felt? (I know right? The kid is brilliant and reflective no less)
It took me about thirty years to be able to articulate my feelings and express them. Quite frankly, I am still an emotional stuffer. And now here’s my verbal toddler teaching her mama to stop and smell the roses.
And then it hits me, our morning ritual is far more than milk and coffee, it’s a snapshot of our relationship.
A stolen moment of bliss between a mother and her child.
And we are content exactly where we are.
SO HAPPY!
