I think often about the end of my life. Sounds a bit ridiculous at age 27 and even borderline morbid, but it seems keeps my perspective healthy. With a husband who sees last days as a part of his every day and losing friends and family too early; this could be the last is a thought frequented as the early morning sun fills our little bedroom.
She knocks from the inside of her wooden door, softly at first, vocals added momentarily..usually sounding like a cry for help, “Mommmmm!!!!.” To roll over and beg God that she will somehow go back to bed, or stumble to her door; needing to match level 10 energy until nap time. She’s sharing my sweatshirt and begging for cheerios, “I missed you mama..”
I turn the coffee on and feed the dog breakfast. Timeouts, I love you’s, meltdowns (her and me), grocery trips for fresh dinner ingredients, brushing out tangles, teaching, an ordinary day. “Read with me, mama…”
The fifth time of reading her princess book, we feel the baby kick inside. Her light blue eyes light on fire with wonder. She puts her miniature hand on my belly and then on hers…“my baby is moving too!”
The love of my life will walk through our new dutch door in a few hours, he may not have slept at work, but he will be smiling and we will hug for a while anyway.
I pull covers over her tiny body, “my feet are cold, mama!..” I let my eyes rest as her room falls silent, some of the first time I have had to myself all day. A moment to think my own thoughts.
This is what I would do. Exactly this, be here on my last day. This is extraordinary. An exquisite gift, this life to me. Not easy, by any means. Really, really hard sometimes, hardly ever good-looking, Pinterest or Instagram worthy. This is it, exactly what I would do.
The Morning Mug 