I’m sitting cross-legged on our spit-up stained comforter, nursing CJ as morning overcomes night once again. Josh pops his head into the room. “I’m heading out with Kyeler to pick up breakfast,” he tells me. “What would you like?”
I am exhausted, irritable, and looking for any excuse to be rude to anyone on this particular Saturday morning. “I don’t want breakfast,” I snap, denying him even the simple kindness of eye contact. “I just want to go back to sleep.” Josh exits the room without a word, closing the door behind him.
I regret the daggers as soon as they escape my mouth. It’s just so much easier to lash out than to admit I’m drowning in the demands of motherhood. It’s easier to direct my anger at the man I love, hoping he will absorb it so I don’t have to.
Josh returns with coffee and avocado toast, my favorite. “I’m sorry,” I say as he hands me the warm cup and takeout box. “It’s okay, I know you’re tired,” he responds. He takes the boys into the playroom so I can eat by myself, a rare gift in these baby days.
Isn’t that love? Kindness in response to anger. Forgiveness instead of accusation. Grace when you did nothing to earn it.
And sometimes, when the sleep is so scarce and the tears are so close and the veil is so thin, love looks a lot like eating your breakfast in peace.
Sunlight spills across our kitchen table as I sip my still-warm coffee. A tiny miracle. I can hear Josh reading The Very Hungry Caterpillar, our boys cooing in response. This is another chapter in our love story, unfolding on a cold and tired winter morning.
This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series “Love Looks Like”.
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