Jackson and I “eat” breakfast together most mornings. If you’ve never tried to feed a squirming baby, it takes a minimum of two hands (some days I wish I had a few more). So by eat I really mean I (attempt to) feed him a mixture of cereal, banana, peanut butter and cinnamon (it’s actually quite tasty), get covered in said food, all while watching my own breakfast go cold. There have been many days I’ve reminisced those mornings from my pre-mom life when I had the luxury of sitting down with hot eggs and toast, when I didn’t need to microwave my coffee umpteen times, when I could start my day with silence.
And then there are rare days like today. Today when I had to wake up before my family and get to work for a dayshift (I work mostly nights). The house was quiet, even the dogs were still asleep. I brushed my teeth, changed into my scrubs, kissed my sleeping husband goodbye, secretly hoped Jackson would wake up so I could kiss him goodbye, and headed downstairs. I made myself a coffee, eggs and toast. I sat at the table in silence. And suddenly, I realized I missed eating my breakfast cold. Not because I love the taste of cold eggs but because I missed the company I share them with. And so, I’m sure there will be more days I long for a warm breakfast when I’m wrangling a baby and covered in cereal but I’ll remind myself of this morning. Because I’ll take cold breakfast with my baby boy over warm breakfast alone every day of the week.