I'll wake up in the morning, struggle through the layer of clothes on my bedroom floor to answer the call of a newly awakened cranky child. Before I can even use the restroom, I know I have to find a clean sippy cup and after failing to do so, I'll have to find a dirty cup and quickly clean it. Then, I'll dance around the kitchen making a breakfast that I know she won't eat anyways. After realizing it's trash day and that the trash cans aren't anywhere near the road side, I'll cut breakfast short and dash outside. With baby on my hip, I'll struggle down the driveway trying not to tip the giant green can on immobile wheels. And right when I think I'm at my breaking point and I'm just about to curse out this stay-at-home-motherhood, I'm reminded why I do this.
My battery will be dangerously low, then I'll see her little body stumble across the yard and immediately I'm recharged.
The everyday mundane suddenly becomes extraordinary.
And I'm thankful.