Prayer for new mothers

Father, the half-folded laundry is still on the couch, and I almost did not pray this morning because I could not find beautiful words. You once told Your people to build an altar with stones left just as they were, no tool, no polish. Let my rough prayer count too. The half sentence on the way to the changing table. The thanks given through a yawn. The single word whispered into the steam of the kettle. You receive the raw stone. Let me stop trying to dress up my morning, so it can finally begin. Amen.