Caloden

Every morning the baby wakes me at 5:49 with his wailing requests for milk. Fair enough, after all he had the good grace to go peacefully to bed at 7 the night before. So after we nurse, I stumble downstairs in search of my bestest morning friend, the coffee maker. Praying that I set it on auto the night before, I sniff around for the aroma of life. If no auto pot awaits me, I hoist the baby up on my hip, claw through the freezer for a filter and the coffee and brew up a pot. I wait for it to fill up enough so I can snatch the carafe and pour a cup. No picturesque Folger’s moment here: the baby is crying, the dog is barking for breakfast, the cat is trying to climb on the counter for a treat and I am desperate for the damn java. But ah, a creamy cup later all is starting to look bearable. I tell the baby I love him, let the rotten dog outside, push the cat off the counter and decide to face the day after all.