An offering

In the early morning, before he wakes, I make tea.

It's still dark. The screen of the baby monitor lends a grey light to guide my journey down the hallway. I tread gently, overstepping the loose floorboard before the kitchen. It's caught me out before. Feeling for the range hood above the stove, I pull it out. In the second before the light comes on, I pray the switch for the exhaust fan is turned off. Luckily, this time, it is only the light which wakes up.

I always make sure to fill the jug the night before. A small gift to my morning self. I press the button of the kettle down, conscious to not trouble the silence

The kettle boils.

It rumbles, low and uvular. The bubbles cascade against the clear sides angling for release, the jug vibrating against the base threatening to topple. The chaos subsides as I scald the teabag, prompting it to float to the top searching for salvation.

As I wait for the tea to steep, I spot a clue. Remains of husbands late-night snack. A beige constellation of powdery flecks across the bench. Toast. Slackly, I brush the crumbs onto the floor. The dog will find them later, a pleasant reward for an eager and unrelenting nose.

I pour the milk.

It hits the tea and swirls, monochrome psychedelia inside the mug. I squeeze the remaining moisture from the teabag, the heat oddly comforting against my fingers.

I find my way to the lounge. I stare at the monitor. A night-vision portrait. The baby sleeps. On the bed, I see the silhouette of the dog. The white glow in his eyes shows he is awake. A loyal sentry guarding his little friend.

I drink the tea. I've learned in the months past that savouring tea gets you nowhere. I've lost too many cups, being sacrificed to the whims of a crying baby or a naptime cut short.

As if on cue, a cry emits from the monitor. The dogs ears prick up and he jumps from the bed, his nails hitting the floorboards with a harsh rattle. The tea is almost finished. If I turn it to the correct angle you can see the bottom of the mug. Good enough.

I tip the remaining tea down the sink. An offering to the Gods to start another day.