Each Day

It is 9AM and I feel like it is 3AM. My eyes are rimmed with dark circles and I feel so tired that I could sleep while writing this. I only have a few moments as your hands are moving in your crib. It is a 50/50 shot that you will put yourself to sleep, or become bored and cry for me to make an appearance at your crib to talk to you. When you hear my voice you kick your legs and start to cry; a signal that you want me to hold you again. I never refuse you because the touch of your skin against my neck is too alluring. I will move to the rocker if you cry and sit with you. An hour will pass in silence with me staring at your beautiful face. Time flies.

The kitchen is a mess, I have not eaten since lunch yesterday which came at 3PM. Bed time came and went with your needs. You have discovered your hands and put them in your mouth. When I give you your bottle you no longer hold your hands in little fists, choosing instead to spread your fingers long and wide and stroke my hands, enjoying the sensation of touch. They are soft and supple and squishy. This morning at 6AM I was thinking they were like tiny softshell crabs that run along the shoreline at the ocean. I don't know why I associate things in such an odd fashion.

I wonder as I write this and you are beginning to crow a little if I will get a chance to shower today. It is a toss-up how I spend those hours. Sometimes it is only 30 minutes before you stir again, sometimes an hour. I debate between sleep and washing bottles, sleep and showering. I look at my cuticles, rough and jagged at the end of brittle nails and dry hands. Bottle washing has taken it's toll on the once perfectly manicured digits. Pearls are still fastened to my earlobes in stark contrast to messy hair. A bit of old-life indulgence on new life leftovers.

This is my morning. Tired, and worn. You are crying and I am going to pick you up and start that beautiful hour of silence spent holding you. Nothing else matters - life is wonderful because of you.

xoxo,
Mommy