Bitter

Sofia has always been a waker. As is, not a sleep-through-the-nighter. She's over one year old now, and consistently waking twice a night. To nurse, always to nurse. Imagine my surprise and glee when I heard the first cries at 6:20 am this morning. That would be one entire night of sleep for me; uninterrupted for 7 hours. Heaven.
So, we nursed, as usual, and she fell back asleep, as usual. I got up, cleaned up the kitchen from last night (yes, we are lazy at times), made the morning pot o' joe, and did my workout.
Afterwards, I poured myself a mug and relaxed in the livingroom with my husband, listening to the radio news, and rolling our eyes at the debacle of the RNC.
Perfect beginning to the day.

If Sofia wakes talking and happy, she's ready for the day. If she wakes in tears, she is ready for a nap. So, when I heard her crying at just past 8, I braced myself. She immediately wanted to nurse, so we snuggled in on the couch. Then, she spotted it.
The mug.
She pulled off, pointing and groping toward the coffee table. I relented, and gave her a sip.
All smiles.
My girl, she needs her morning cuppa, as well. Breast milk, well, that just doesn't cut it. The sweet, nourishing mama love holds nothing over the bitter taste of morning.