When our daughter was born 20 years ago, my husband and I struggled to establish new routines that would give our upside-down lives a more dependable rhythm. We looked for small rituals to carry us through this wild new territory — some regular activity that would remind us of our carefree childless selves while helping to shape our future selves, the capable parents that we hoped to become.
The answer, we decided, was coffee. Our favorite pre-baby activity on weekend mornings was reading in bed. At about 10 or 11 a.m., we’d take our books and go to a coffee shop where we’d read and drink coffee, then go to a bookstore for another couple of hours and buy more books and possibly have another coffee in the bookstore’s coffee shop. (We often wondered, after we became parents, why we didn’t we go to plays and concerts and galleries when we had the freedom to do so. But no, it was always coffee and books, coffee and books. We were a painfully well-read and dangerously caffeinated couple.)
Though we sorely missed our coffee-and-reading outings, it was sometimes too overwhelming to bring the baby with us, what with naptimes and nursing and bottles and diapers and strollers and car seats and unpredictable bouts of fussiness (both the baby’s and our own). So we decided to bring the coffee shop to our house. At 10 a.m. on a Saturday or Sunday, no matter what else was going disastrously wrong, we scooped a handful of roasted beans into our coffee grinder. The loud, steady whir of the grinder’s blades was the signal that a tiny bit of normalcy would ensue. We weren’t fancy with the French press and pour-overs and all that. We had a cheap but cherished four-cup drip coffee maker that gurgled and steamed while it brewed, sending the powerful aroma of coffee into our living room. When the coffee was ready, we let everything else go for 20 minutes and just sat and sipped our brew, side by side.
This ritual became “sacred coffee time,” because, amid all the poop and spit-up and crying, it restored our joy and gratitude. We had a baby. She was beautiful and perfect. We were learning, day by day, how to be Mommy and Daddy. And here we were, in our home sweet home, with sunshine coming through the windows and a cup of coffee in our hands like normal people on a Saturday morning. We could manage this. We might even be good at it.