I ran into the coffee shop.
Rather, I was RUN into the coffee shop.
By my children.
CAFFEINATE OR DIE… caffeinate or die, friends.
I paid for my triple grande iced white chocolate mocha – easy on the white chocolate. No whip.
*Side note: I only like white chocolate mochas that are made with white chocolate powder. Big Train is my favorite. TRUST ME. Furthermore, drinks made with white chocolate sauce is nastAY. Also, I am not a fan of white chocolate in general, but I am a fan of white chocolate mochas. Made with powder, not syrup… to be clear. In case you ever want to surprise me with a white chocolate mocha, I thought you should know.
Aaaanywho.
I scooped up my iced cup of salvation and passed by 2 women and a preschool-aged boy. The ladies were sitting while the boy was… climbing. Madly. Just as a 3 or 4 year old boy does in a coffee shop while mommy is getting a little coffe time in. Bless that momma.
As I passed by, I overheard one woman advise…”Make sure you introduce vegetables before fruit. Wait on carrots and squash and… yadda, yadda…”
Upon closer look, yes… the other gal was mego-prego.
A young mom… encouraging, equipping… passing on advice to a probably very nervous mom-to-be.
My first thought?
LAME. The kid will never go for it. I wanted to step in and say, “Just do whatcha gotta do, sweetie. You will read and hear all kinds of stuff and think you have it all worked out and WHAMMO, SISTER… You’ll find yourself in the fetal position at 3 a.m. in the corner of your entry the first night home from the hospital because it was the furthest spot in the house away from the screaming baby… and eventhough the newborn is your third kid… the exhaustion and realization that you will never ever have any control will hit you like you never imagined. Oh, and nothing that you read or hear will ever prepare you for the level of defeat that is comin’ your way. For realz.”
But I didn’t. I stepped into the restroom… and looked into the mirror. I saw the woman who, 6.5 years ago laid on the floor of her entry in the fetal postion, trying not to hear the sounds of her newborn baby’s inconsolable cry (baby #3)… trying not to lose her mind because she knew it’d be weeks – IF NOT MONTHS – before she’d ever sleep through the night again…
I gave myself the stink-eye.. and decided embrace the age-old ritual that was happening between those two women in the coffee shop. The ancient ritual of motherhood… giving the best of what we know as a new one enters this sacred, confusing, and ultimately remarkable fold. Motherhood.
Veggies before fruits. Whatever. It’s more than that. It’s having someone who has been there… that helps calm those fears, that builds courage in one’s ability as one enters into this, this place… called motherhood.
Besides… then the baby is born and all bets are off.
But it’s good to have hope.
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