Tower Breakfast & Other Miracles

The fact that I can get dressed before you’re up feels like a miracle after an odd week of “The Return to the Early Wake-ups.” I step into the kitchen to prep breakfast. You must sense this and raise. I can truthfully say that nothing compares to our morning hugs that smell like crib sheets, baby drool, and Aveeno baby shampoo. The warmth of those few seconds in the morning will last me a lifetime.

We go back to the kitchen, intertwined. Your legs wrapped around me, your groggy voice asking for your morning favorites.

“Menu eggs?” you ask.

I laugh. Only yesterday did you learn about the idea of ‘This is on the menu…’ That isn’t on the menu. I think you find it amusing, for now. I look at you and say, “No, eggs are not on the menu this morning. Yogurt, waffles, and raspberries are.” You bury your disappointed face back in my neck.

For a moment, we stop in front of the window. The mix of orange and blue is more obvious now and makes you announce, “It’s day now! Oh no, the sun is coming, Mama! Cover your eyes!”

No longer groggy. Your sense of humor is now up, too.

This part goes by pretty quickly: I throw two frozen waffles into the toaster, add honey to your greek yogurt, and rinse the raspberries. I no longer wash them all as soon as I purchase them because we end up eating raspberry puree. You help me place everything in front of your tower. I give you a horsey back ride around the kitchen counter. You giggle and ask for another round.

In the time you enjoy your meal, I throw on makeup, start a load of laundry, and braid your hair. I’m grateful for a slow eater in the mornings. You finish your breakfast, and we race to your room to get ready for the day.

“Mama, there’s school today?”

Then I realize, you have been speaking in full sentences for a while now. It’s also Tuesday. When I first began slicing about you, you were about to turn one. Our verbal exchanges sounded a bit different. I think, here’s my slice for today.