Cold Joe.

I don’t hate having cold coffee.

I don’t hate being needed.

I don’t hate being in demand.

I don’t hate being a stacking tower. 

I don’t hate missing breakfast – or even the fighting back.

I don’t hate being the one to get picked first everytime a hand needs holding or a street needs crossing.

I don’t hate the snot stains on my sleeves that aren’t mine, or being a punching bag for verbal assaults.

Not even the mental or physical melt downs.

Not even the ‘you should get locked up’ level tantrums.

I don’t know how to justify that one – but it’s easier to laugh it off than to be upset.

I don’t hate it, not any part. In fact, I love it. 

And it’s funny because I always hear moms reign it in and say they can’t justify their distaste for this age, or that phase or all of the mess.

But they justify their distaste for these things by simply knowing and understanding it’s what they always wanted, instead of just enjoying it.

I never wanted this. I never even asked for it. But, I absolutely needed it. And all the time – I’m prepared to be humbled by it.

I’m so, so in love with a life that has my daughter in it, that I laugh to think I ever dreamed of one without her.

I know and deeply understand that what I take from these young years, is the only part of any of this life that is promised to me.

So, I’ll take the crumbs in my bed.

I say cheers to that cold cup of Joe, and call it a cold brew.

Bring on the back talk.

Just call me a walking penalty box.

Because there is literally nowhere else in the world I would rather be.

There is no job I am better prepared to do; no person I love more.

I don’t hate a single fleeting second.

I know my little dictator won’t stay with me forever. I’ll happily take her however I can get her, here and now.

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