241/365: The Real Stuff

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Iris does not get the real stuff. We’ve been perfecting our latte technique lately with a morning pair over breakfast, and it’s been a losing battle trying to keep her from drinking mine. I don’t mind a couple of sips, but she’s persistent. And espresso just can’t be that good for a one-year-old, you know? Also there are actual tears when I take my cup back, and that’s not exactly the Parisian lounge-about atmosphere we were going for with our robes and morning glance at the news and latte in cup and sauce.

Today, however, I had one of those moments of mommy brilliance for which Mother’s Day was probably first awarded. I measured out an extra half cup of vanilla soy milk, got it steamy, poured it in a quite-grown-up cup straight, and brought out three lattes to the table.

Iris LOVED her latte. And she was so pleased with having complete control of her OWN CUP that she didn’t even think to double-check the contents of mine.

I was thinking about this—the real stuff concept—earlier this morning when I was wedged in the middle of our never-big-enough bed between my two favorite people on the planet. Iris had been up at midnight and then again at 5, and after half an hour of trying to cajole her back to sleep at 5, Carl ran out of ideas and they both found their way to our bed. By six-thirty, they were both asleep. I was awake.

Just awake, listening to the birds starting to chirp. Thinking that it would be easy to be kind of cranky about the broken sleep or the pair of limbs (one large and one small) encroaching on my space. My DAY, really. But it seemed sort of wasteful to be upset about it. I was pretty sure it was going to be a great day, so why bother? This is the real stuff. These are the people who made me a mom and the people I would never want to be without. Not that my role has been passive exactly these last almost two years. But you know what I mean.

When Iris woke up at seven, she sat up before her eyes were even open. And when she did open them, she opened them up to see me smiling at her and showed me the full depth of her single dimple with the biggest, happiest grin.

This is the real stuff.

It seems like just when I’m starting to realize there are no perfect scenarios and no perfect things, I’m also coming to appreciate that there are far more good things in the world than any of us will ever have the time or opportunity to experience. Our choices—and the things that are not matters of choice—will all be different. But there will be good things in every path.

I’m so grateful for the good things in mine.

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