Reflections as I Wake Up

I sit at the kitchen table nursing a cup of coffee, with generous cream. If I tilted my head at a certain angle, I could see the clouds outside skimming the dark liquid in my cup. It isn't too often that we have clouds--more commonly, the sky is a vast, endless expanse stretching over miles of unbroken golden grasses. I never imagined myself living in the prairie, 3 hours from a big city and even longer to the nearest mountain range. I'm tired this morning, trying to shrug off the fog of sleep that hasn't lifted since I was awoken by calls of "Mama!" over the baby monitor at 8am.

But my daughter watches me with sparkling eyes and firmly grasps her sippy cup of milk in front of her, chattering away. "Mama has coffee. Baby has milk!" She smiles a wide smile that could only be the result of deep, dreamless sleep. Sometimes I peak in her room before I head to bed for the night, and I usually find her pressed up against the slats of the crib with a pacifier in her mouth. A path of light shines across the floor of the room, but she rarely stirs.

Morningtime is a drawn-out ritual of drinks, breakfast, dishes, vitamins, tooth brushing, and dressing. We take it slowly, and it is often a 2-hour affair between the time she first stirs to the time we are dressed, pressed, and ready to head out on errands (or adventures). Her little bare feet beat an uneven rhythm on the laminate floor as she runs from hallway to living room, from living room to kitchen. I know that Daddy can hear it as he dozes downstairs.

I don't recall ever being ambitious. Not in the sense that people today mean it, anyway. I used to think that was a fault in myself, but now I see it as a blessing. It's not that I don't lead a productive life. I just feel utterly content in my role as wife and mother, and nothing else appeals to me as desperately as that does. I love the chattering and the cuddles and the cats that have to constantly be taken off the counter-tops. I love the slow-paced driving in a city where no one is in a terrible hurry. I love the prairie skies and the coulees and the muddy, unpredictable river. I love the cool berries sitting in my fridge and the crumbs that have to be swept up after almost EVERY meal, along with the expectant face that has to be scrubbed down, too. All of it is beautiful and satisfying to me.

I wonder if we've lost something by always reaching for something greater. If that desire is in your heart, follow it. But if you are content and filled with joy from details and crayon drawings and dirty dishes in the sink after a well-cooked meal, follow that, too. Don't let anyone tell you that motherhood is an occupation for second-class citizens. Anyone may be able to do it, but not everyone can do it well. Take pride in it, and take a deep draft of your morning cup of coffee for me, because goodness knows that I need another one.