Pushing a trolley half-filled with groceries alongside an antsy, soon-to-be-climbing-the-sides baby girl, I caught the aroma as I sped past a café. The dizzying heights of addictive caffeine hit me in an instant, inflating my nostrils with the heavenly scent, travelling deep into the depths of passionate refuge.
“At home you’re going to have a nap, while Mummy is going to have a rest,” is what I murmured to baby girl. Only by rest, I actually meant fix myself a well-deserved coffee.
An hour later, as the coffee dripped into my World’s Best Mum mug, I did something I don’t usually do, inspired by the strong scent I had come across earlier.
I leaned into the coffee drip and inhaled deeply as golden brown liquid seeped out.
Do I need to actually spell out that I’m grateful for that? The awakening and uplifting properties of caffeine, its aroma enough to spur anyone into greatness? The smell that reads to you like a book: telling you of its warmth, its depth, its personality, its charisma, yet also its spellbinding and enigmatic persona?
Well I am.