It was cold when I woke up this morning. The kind of cold that makes you want to stay in bed. I was in a funk. My to do list was glaring at me, and I was missing my sister. So I laid there thinking about all the reasons my life was hard.
Then Jules woke up. I sighed, and went to get her out of bed. I changed her diaper, apologizing for my cold hands, and then snuggled us both back in my bed to nurse her. As she ate, I wondered how people in truly cold climates kept their babies warm. And then I thought about all the people who couldn't keep their babies warm. Who weren't sitting in houses with heaters and blankets and pantries full of food, but woke up this morning much colder than I was, and worried about what they were going to feed their babies.
The gratitude hit me like a tidal wave. I have SO much. I never worry about where my next meal is coming from. And even though I wince when our electric bill comes, I still keep the temperature in my house comfortable. I have clean diapers, plenty of food, and lots of clean blankets to keep Jules clean, dry, fed, and warm at all times.
Gratitude is a cliche in November. I sometimes feel like it is being thrown at me from every direction. Facebook posts, church talks, grocery store signs all remind me that I should be grateful for what I have. And since I hate being told what to do, my inclination is to run the other way, to list everything that it seems everyone but me has.
I wish I could say my moment of gratitude snapped me out of my funk. It didn't. I still glared at the dirty kitchen floor (seriously, can't it learn to mop itself??) and mentally whined when I had to go grocery shopping. But it was a good reminder that I am truly, unfairly, inconceivably blessed. And I am grateful.