He slept through the night again - three in a row now. My body isn't as grateful as the rest of me. It's still exhausted from two weeks of broken sleep. It's grouchy sore from hours of floor sitting and bending to puppy level and hurdling puppy gates. Hands stinging from encounters with the knife drawer that is Toby's mouth. Brain caffeine-starved and annoyed at having to wait for its fix for the fifteenth morning in a row.
While Toby teethes on a fir branch just out of my arm's reach, I stand in the back yard. Utterly still. Acutely aware of the clean sharp air scouring the remaining sleep from my core. Looking into my home and my life from the blanketing dark of outside.
I've spent my life looking into lighted homes from the dark outside. Wondering if the people inside were happy. Aching to be a part of the families gathered within. Envying the warm glow on the other side of the windows I gazed longingly through.
As I look in the same way into my own home, I realize that in this moment I am happy. Happy and grateful and deeply content. There is no wondering or aching or envy. This is enough.
I like the people who live in this inviting country home - my home. I see sanctuary, haven, hope through the bay window of my dining room. My heart fills to overflowing with love, gratitude and joy. I have everything I've ever wanted. This is enough.
Enough becomes abundance and more as my sweet puppy, a faint ember blur in the last dark of this winter morning, drags his branch to my feet in an invitation to play. I coax my reluctant back and aching legs into a response. Toby and I run gleefully across the rain-slick lawn, our frolic gently lit by the glow from the house.