I am grateful for the dark room and the comfortable bed. For the man who quietly enters trying hard not to wake me. For the tiny blond girl following behind him like a little duck.
I am grateful for the tender conversation I overhear between them in the bathroom while the man gets ready for work. For the small voice saying “Here Dada.” For the loving way he thanks her for handing him his deodorant.
I am grateful for the slow steady breath of the infant on my chest. For the sweet sounds of sucking from his lips. For the total relaxation of his body against mine.
I am grateful for the sound of rain outside. For the gray glow of light from the window. For the smell of coffee in the air. For the cozy blanket hugging my baby and me.
This morning was a good morning. They aren’t always good. They aren’t always calm. Sometimes the baby on my chest is crying. Sometimes the little blond girl is yelling. Sometimes the man is frustrated. Sometimes I am too tired to be grateful.
But this morning was good. I am grateful.
Grateful even for the bad mornings. For the mornings of defiance. The rambunctious mornings. The mornings of exhaustion. The mornings that start too early.
I am grateful for this complex life-thing that unfolds anew every time I peel open my eyes. It is precious to me. As I lay quietly in the dark. As I listen to the rain, and child, and the man and the breath. They are so precious to me. I am grateful.