An ode to Saturday mornings
And appreciating every moment of this life
An ode to Saturday mornings.
To subtle light shining into our kitchen through the glass doors. To my sweet son and his little toes grazing the wooden floor, pushing him ever forward in his walker as he slowly learns how to put one tiny foot in front of the other.
To his toys scattered on the floor, the ones I pick up and hand to him again and again.
To the squirrels chasing each other, jumping and wrestling in the trees. To my neighbor’s toddler, taking in the sights from the glass backdoor.
To the gurgle of the coffee machine, the one I purchased in a fit of mild sleep deprivation a week before returning to work three months ago.
To the quiet of the house at 7am, to the soft music playing from the refrigerator speaker. To my husband, sleeping upstairs. To my bowl of tangy yogurt, pocked with berries and swirled with peanut butter. To my clear head, not cluttered with the remnants of alcohol.
I have so, so much gratitude.
Five years ago, I wanted nothing but this, this simple level of bliss. I thought about it every day. Marrying my then-boyfriend, now-husband. Moving to a new home in a neighborhood better suited raising a child. Starting on a new career path that would allow me to provide for my family. Becoming pregnant with a healthy baby. And the final piece I didn’t even know I needed, the deep inner peace brought to me through sobriety.
It all happened. Here I am. And some days I don’t know what to do with all of this happiness, but to write about it.