Dear Mama-To-Be, 

There’s a certain magic (and madness) to mornings once you’re officially out of the trenches of the fourth trimester. Those early survival days, where every hour blurred into the next, feel like a distant memory now. We made it through, somehow.

Now, I’m back at work, coffee in hand, while my husband holds down the fort at home. It’s a new season of life, one filled with new routines, new energy, and (let’s be real) new levels of chaos.

Leaving the house in the morning? It’s an Olympic sport.

With two kids to get moving and two dogs to get walked and fed, we’re working against the clock. Especially after a weekend of less structure, Monday mornings often feel like wrestling a wild tornado into submission.

Thankfully, 13-year-old Chase is in his independent era. He mostly takes care of himself, occasionally needing a reminder or two (or three) to grab some breakfast, find his missing AirPod or to put on a sweater. I’m grateful for that. If Chase needed as much hands-on attention as he used to, I honestly don’t know how we’d do it.

But then there’s Jett.

Almost 7 months old and already running the show, Jett’s morning routine kicks off around 6:00 AM like clockwork.

First, there’s the slow waking: little stretches that turn into a flip onto his belly, and the sweetest smile that makes even the earliest alarm worth it.

Then comes the playtime, which feels more like a mini performance: morning songs and lots of giggle’s.

After that, it’s time for his breakfast: a messy but determined adventure into solids, where more oatmeal might end up on his face than in his mouth.

And finally, a bottle to top it all off, usually curled up in our arms as we watch his eyelids get heavier.

Meanwhile, the dogs are barking for breakfast, Chase is asking where his favorite hoodie went, and I’m trying to remember if I’ve packed everything I need for work and whether I actually brushed my teeth.

It’s not glamorous. It’s not particularly quiet. But it’s ours.

By the time 9 AM rolls around, I’ve already run what feels like a full marathon and I haven’t even opened my inbox yet.

Some mornings go smoothly, almost suspiciously so. Others? Well, let’s just say if we’re all fed, dressed (mostly), and out the door in one piece, it’s a full day’s achievement.

These mornings aren’t perfect, but they’re full of life. Full of little victories that only someone in the thick of parenthood would recognize: a packed lunchbox, a clean onesie, a remembered permission slip.

It’s messy. It’s beautiful. And it’s a reminder every day that this… the chaos, the cuddles, the cereal on the floor – is the good stuff.