The Lifeblood Of Motherhood

March 04, 2015

There is one universal substance that fuels women the world over.  

These long-suffering women who have accomplished the impossible, who have faced 8 wake ups (or more, saints have mercy) in 8 hours only to peel themselves out of bed again the next day. Is it really the next day if you didn't really sleep?  Patient women who have scrubbed every last crusty chunk of oatmeal from a tots head at night, only to find more, somehow, in the light of the early morning sun because those Target blackout curtains just aren't wide enough.  Optimistic women who still aim to have a homemade dinner on the table by 6, even if reality gives them a frozen pizza at 9 most of the time.  

They are forever carrying on, in light of both the coma-inducing monotony, and 'inconveniently interesting' that is life with small human beings.  They are mamas.  

And the delicious nectar, the lifeblood of motherhood, is coffee.


I have a theory:  being baptized as a first time mom, it doesn't happen at delivery.  It doesn't even happen when you change your first diaper or complete your first swaddle.  It is when you bring your morning coffee to your lips and they meet only cold caffeine where steaming hot should be.  And you keep drinking it like its normal.  That is truly when your brain goes "holy crap.  I'm somebody's mom now."  and it is real.


Whether you like it cold to start with (why deny the inevitable?) and choose iced coffee as your weapon of choice against the dragon of sleeplessness, or if you're really on top of your life and manage to successfully wield a french press to get a steaming cup of coffee-snob gold, the hit is the same and it prevents whining "I give uuuuuuuuuup." Every. Five. Minutes.

In an ideal world, I would have this no filter pour over with this kettle.  Because they look so damn good.  In reality I have this one, which isn't hard on the eyes and doesn't require the stove being on so if I forget about my boiling water... meh.  

Having the attention for more than a two step process when it comes to coffee is just not on the cards for me every day.  I'm sure I can get an amen from, like, every not pretentious mom out there. Because if I take more than exactly one minute on grinding and assembling the drip process, my daughter comes to see what I'm doing and micromanages the crap out of the coffee making.  I keep telling her that filters are for filtering and not eating.  But obviously she has other plans and what do I know.

If you say I'm being dramatic and I should try board books for an easy diversion, come right over so I can smack you square on the mouth.  

Back to the coffee.  In the real world I only actually make it once every few days (now you can gasp with all the shock-and-horror and show me all the whites of your eyes) and I just reheat some of yesterday's (or older than yesterday's).  Because with enough cream and sweetener, it's basically become about the caffeine and only the caffeine.

BUT then there is the Saturday morning that I can pull out the french press and make a hot cup with no sugar and just a little milk because its fresh and its good.  These days Reece will go out and get some donuts (because I just decided to get fat as a small weekend hobby) and all that sweet and fluffy with the hot coffee is oh so good.

During the week, if I'm out, sometimes I'll get a simple americano and let P crawl around and annoy strangers in a coffee shop.  Which usually affords me enough stamina to walk home with a grateful heart and a warm belly.

The point of this post is that the reality of my coffee drinking has changed.  My cups of cappuccino used to be tremendous (Bean Green I miss your face) and always hot.  I drank it peacefully distracted by  editing photos or whatever was surfing by on the web.

This moment is perfect, though.  We are where we are.  Cold coffee doesn't burn babies' teeny fingers so if I place it incorrectly within her destructive radius... all we get is a naturally stained onesie and one less mug to wash.

If you have no children, close your eyes next time you drink hot coffee and thank the good lord it isn't your turn yet.  If you do, I raise my cold mug of slimy jo from three days ago to you, sister in arms.  For the night is dark, and full of terrors.

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