I woke up today. I am healthy. I am still imperfect, I am still flawed, I am still making mistakes. But. I woke up today.
My feet hit the floor, after a cacophony of giggles and Mamas filled my room much earlier than my alarm would have woken me, but I stood up. I chose to smile at my babies, grateful that they too woke up today.
My feet found the cold tile of the bathroom, my hands splashed warm water on my face and my breath grew steady with resolve. I brushed my teeth and counted the strokes, as I have for as long as I have been able to count. Hurry Mommys! and a scuffle in the kitchen and all of a sudden my feet hit the kitchen tile. Worn, stained and well loved, our kitchen tile met my feet with a familiar pattern. I stood in front of the coffee pot, the toaster, the refrigerator. I stood, performing the familiar breakfast routine, but I stood. Fueling my children for a long day ahead, fueling myself with caffeine and medicine.
Breakfast doled out, coffee with cream in hand, my feet found the carpet of the living room a warm reprise from the cold tile. Shuffled to the couch, I sat and observed my children playing. Their tiny feet, making patterns in the carpet as they run through our tiny house, searching for trains, crayons, tiny plastic princesses and countless blocks to build a tiny town of their own imagination. Watching them create awakens my sleepy mind.
I'm sitting comfortably, yet I'm standing.
I'm here. I'm making it. I'm surviving this life, this crazy, ridiculous, challenging life and I'm standing.