Through nine months of parenthood, I’d say I love almost everything about this new adventure. One thing I do miss about my pre-parent life: copious amounts of piping hot coffee.

It’s not that I’ve stopped drinking java now that I’m a dad—on the contrary, I probably drink more of it now than ever before (something has to fuel my body after back-to-back-to-back-to-back 3 a.m. bedtimes). Now, however, at least after those initial sips, most of the coffee I drink is ice cold.

I always intend to drink my coffee while it’s still steaming. I set the coffee-maker to brew a pot before I go to bed. Then, when I wake up, I pour myself a thermal mug of coffee first thing every morning, and usually slug back a sip or two while L downs her wake-up bottle.

Inevitably, after those first slurps, life gets in the way. L needs her diaper changed. L wants to crawl around. L pulls the photo albums off the shelf. If she’s being particularly cooperative, I might even sit her on my lap and check some e-mail.

By the time I get back to my cup of Joe, an hour has passed, and the hot coffee inside has become closer to iced coffee (of course I drink it nevertheless; an addict needs his fix, no matter what).

I hadn’t even recognized this phenomenon until this morning, when, in a desperate need for caffeine (and out of beans at home), I dragged the baby with me to our local independent coffee shop. Rather than race home with my cup, the two of us lingered around town while I drank. After a few sips, I thought the elixir tasted better than it has in a while, and noticed it was warming me from the inside. Understandably, I savored every glorious mouthful.