full and then not enough


Today not enough sleep. Today not enough bandwidth. Today not enough peace. 



The dishes need to be done. Laundry is screaming to be ironed. Conversations begging to be finished. Visits to the spas, long lost dreams. Takes all my efforts to turn out decently groomed. Arriving at each day, mustering enough grace and humor to be a mother. Diapering, feeding, food all seems now to be a second nature. It always astounds me how life keeps coming back to these things. To bread and dishes. To sleep. To love.


Today I sit on the couch and press my nose into that warm place behind Nirvaan's tiny ear and whisper. I love you. I love you.


It's just that this now is such a blurry tender place. I curl up into the present on the couch, hold him, try to get words down. I listen to the way things hum and chatter in the house: the refrigerator, the birds, the fan. Sometimes I think about how this life, mine, has become so small. The circumference of it just circling this. 
Now.


Sometimes I feel guilty that it isn't bigger, flashier, more. Something. Guilty? Maybe that is the wrong word. But some days I feel the judgment, coming from somewhere. The world pressing up against the thin glycerin skin of this moment, fragile as it is.


I used to love watching clouds float up and away over in the clear blue summer sky. Of course they burst sometime or later or simply vaporized, but in my head I imagined them floating on and on, up, to Jupiter or to the fairyland. 



Such are the moments today. Tired. More tired. The nights still sometimes haphazard, but mostly soft with sleep and pillows, dreams right there, and even when he wakes up more, as he did last night, when the morning comes a small piece of me is grateful for the fitful night, for the broken moments of rest.


I love him so, small like this. Full of radiant smiles and frowns. Before words and sippy cups and defiance.
There is no field guide for this, for these moments, and yet I know I'll stumble through and be fifty before I am ready. So I keep putting the words down. Some kind of record. 


Now. More milk.

...Copyright©nEErs

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