When I wake up in the morning, I tiptoe downstairs and pour myself a big piping hot cup of coffee in my favorite mug from a tacky New York souvenir shop. I snuggle between the pillows piled high on the bench in the sunroom. This is my time. The quiet of each morning, watching the small part of the world around me wake up, having a few minutes with B before he heads to work, spending time with God.
Something new has been added to my mornings though. The reality that the crib across the hall holds a little one is still a bit surreal. To peek in the door before she wakes and see her tiny body snuggled up with her stuffed animals seems make believe. But it's not make believe. She's real and she's here, every single morning. When she wakes and I walk in her bedroom door our eyes meet, and she smiles. The sight of me makes her smile. Some mornings it's too much to take in and I let the tears fall. As I scoop her up in my arms and she snuggles sleepily up to my shoulder, I thank God. I thank Him for the blessing of being her mama.
Something new has been added to my mornings though. The reality that the crib across the hall holds a little one is still a bit surreal. To peek in the door before she wakes and see her tiny body snuggled up with her stuffed animals seems make believe. But it's not make believe. She's real and she's here, every single morning. When she wakes and I walk in her bedroom door our eyes meet, and she smiles. The sight of me makes her smile. Some mornings it's too much to take in and I let the tears fall. As I scoop her up in my arms and she snuggles sleepily up to my shoulder, I thank God. I thank Him for the blessing of being her mama.
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