Coffee and me were never that close, now coffee is one of my closest allies. The ritual and routine of my daily coffee an emotional crutch and daily high. A mere six years ago I would have one instant coffee when I arrived at work, then usually a barista made coffee on a Saturday morning when catching up with friends and maybe one on a Sunday, maybe not. Maybe I would skip coffee all together on a Sunday! Who needs coffee when you get up at 11am.
These days I have one barista made coffee everyday, and occasionally even two...
I love having you placed in front of me, coffee - I always admire your beauty; adorned with a swirling milky pattern, your layers of beige hues delicately rolling through to soft, white foam. The cold and hard feel of the glass as I raise you to my lips for the first sip of your velvety, comforting liquid...
And relax. I sometimes even take your picture, like others do of a particularly impressive meal out. Thank you coffee - giver of energy. Sometimes, of an evening, the promise of tomorrow morning’s coffee may flash through my mind.
This change in relationship between coffee and me is rooted deep in my first maternity leave. It was probably sometime around when my daughter was 4-6 months old. The days were blurring into each other, a particularly grizzly faze, my body was exhausted and my mind empty. The baby talk and baby benchmarking at baby activities interspersed with naps, food, playtime - this wasn’t the holiday I thought it was going to be. My life went slowly and obliviously from being all about me to being 5% about me like sand through an hourglass. I dug my heals in and made sure coffee time was something I had everyday, just for a few minutes or if I was lucky, 20 for myself. Conveniently this coincided with the opening of a great little coffee shop in our neighbourhood that opened at 8am (early for the UK).
Frequently these moments were totally unenjoyable. Taking a grumpy baby via the coffee shop, extending the route to our destination therefore heightening the risk of meltdowns. Stopping with a sleeping baby, stressed and on edge waiting for them to wake as the barista bangs the coffee press - why do they do that? Or a group bursts out laughing across the cafe - bastards. One time both the new born and my 3 year old fell asleep in the car so I hot footed it to costa coffee and parked outside, I queued inside with baited breath hoping they wouldn’t wake (I had to turn the engine off - I hadn’t thought this through) eyes firmly fixed on the car through the rain for any flickers of movement and drove back as the baby stirred shoving a millionaires short bread into my mouth with one hand, barely tasting it. Other times arriving at the coffee shop would be light at the end of the tunnel on a grey afternoon after taking 30 minutes to walk the 4 minute walk there. Stopping to look at cats, diggers, splashing in puddles, practising on the bike or scooter and generally standing at the side of the road supervising step climbing or flower smelling. Interspersed with moments of adult chat with neighbours or fellow parents we crossed paths with on the way and then the warm welcome at my favourite, local coffee shop.
Sometimes getting the children out of coats and hats and trying to contain them long enough for coffee and cake to arrive was hardly worth it. Sometimes I felt like I’d nailed it, colouring with the toddler whilst simultaneously feeding the baby and arriving home having killed 1.5 hours!
During these coffee shop trips I would always look in ore and, at times, resentment at the young professionals working in blissful solitude on their laptops. When I returned to work after my second maternity leave I would work from home one day a week. After dropping the children at nursery I would head to my favourite coffee shop to join the professionals on their laptops- be one of them - it was marvellous! I wouldn’t even have to spend 10 minutes standing at the toilet door or in the toilets themselves while the kids opened and shut the door and I relished this time. At the weekends if an unforeseen moment of calm came up I might ride my bike around and grab a coffee sometimes with one child or sometimes none! Or if I was returning from an errand here or there I would pop in and have a covert coffee before returning home. On the days at the office I would get a coffee just around the corner and relish the moments standing in the queue - on my own - with adults - ordering their coffees in such a civilised fashion. This is where it began: coffee time = me time.
I love having you placed in front of me, coffee - I always admire your beauty; adorned with a swirling milky pattern, your layers of beige hues delicately rolling through to soft, white foam. The cold and hard feel of the glass as I raise you to my lips for the first sip of your velvety, comforting liquid...
And relax. I sometimes even take your picture, like others do of a particularly impressive meal out. Thank you coffee - giver of energy. Sometimes, of an evening, the promise of tomorrow morning’s coffee may flash through my mind.
This change in relationship between coffee and me is rooted deep in my first maternity leave. It was probably sometime around when my daughter was 4-6 months old. The days were blurring into each other, a particularly grizzly faze, my body was exhausted and my mind empty. The baby talk and baby benchmarking at baby activities interspersed with naps, food, playtime - this wasn’t the holiday I thought it was going to be. My life went slowly and obliviously from being all about me to being 5% about me like sand through an hourglass. I dug my heals in and made sure coffee time was something I had everyday, just for a few minutes or if I was lucky, 20 for myself. Conveniently this coincided with the opening of a great little coffee shop in our neighbourhood that opened at 8am (early for the UK).
Frequently these moments were totally unenjoyable. Taking a grumpy baby via the coffee shop, extending the route to our destination therefore heightening the risk of meltdowns. Stopping with a sleeping baby, stressed and on edge waiting for them to wake as the barista bangs the coffee press - why do they do that? Or a group bursts out laughing across the cafe - bastards. One time both the new born and my 3 year old fell asleep in the car so I hot footed it to costa coffee and parked outside, I queued inside with baited breath hoping they wouldn’t wake (I had to turn the engine off - I hadn’t thought this through) eyes firmly fixed on the car through the rain for any flickers of movement and drove back as the baby stirred shoving a millionaires short bread into my mouth with one hand, barely tasting it. Other times arriving at the coffee shop would be light at the end of the tunnel on a grey afternoon after taking 30 minutes to walk the 4 minute walk there. Stopping to look at cats, diggers, splashing in puddles, practising on the bike or scooter and generally standing at the side of the road supervising step climbing or flower smelling. Interspersed with moments of adult chat with neighbours or fellow parents we crossed paths with on the way and then the warm welcome at my favourite, local coffee shop.
Sometimes getting the children out of coats and hats and trying to contain them long enough for coffee and cake to arrive was hardly worth it. Sometimes I felt like I’d nailed it, colouring with the toddler whilst simultaneously feeding the baby and arriving home having killed 1.5 hours!
During these coffee shop trips I would always look in ore and, at times, resentment at the young professionals working in blissful solitude on their laptops. When I returned to work after my second maternity leave I would work from home one day a week. After dropping the children at nursery I would head to my favourite coffee shop to join the professionals on their laptops- be one of them - it was marvellous! I wouldn’t even have to spend 10 minutes standing at the toilet door or in the toilets themselves while the kids opened and shut the door and I relished this time. At the weekends if an unforeseen moment of calm came up I might ride my bike around and grab a coffee sometimes with one child or sometimes none! Or if I was returning from an errand here or there I would pop in and have a covert coffee before returning home. On the days at the office I would get a coffee just around the corner and relish the moments standing in the queue - on my own - with adults - ordering their coffees in such a civilised fashion. This is where it began: coffee time = me time.
Coffee and me will be close forever now. Thank you coffee - for the moments of freedom, enjoyment and, of course, the energy you give me.
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