“I love you
I love you
I love you”
I whisper across their pillowcase on the evenings that frame one of those days.
The days I don’t recognise the sound of my own voice.
Or my reflection.
The days I feel confusion between the comfort of routine and the desire for new adventure.
The days the only exercise I get is bending down to pick up toys, a cumbersome obstacle course of never ending things to do.
The days I miss adult conversation.
The days I want to send a cute selfie to my husband because I used to do that, I used to do a lot of things that I don’t want to do now.
The days where I’m saying, “stop”, “enough”, “no more fighting” on repeat.
The days I spend sighing because I really want to hear this thing they want to tell me, the bright look in their eyes, I love them so much. But I’m still sighing.
We don’t always have these days of course, some days I get the hang of it.
The ever changing pattern of motherhood.
I’ll still be tired, but it doesn’t absorb up every last piece of me.
I remember that ‘being’ moves me forward as much as ‘doing’, but on the inside.
I know that when I feel a little lost, I’m not, I’m here, maybe even with softer edges.
But sometimes I have those testing days, where I can’t wait for their bedtime. Where the breakthrough days before come crumbling to pieces.
And so I lie there at night, a welcomed chance to gather those crumbs of chaos.
“I love you
I love you
I love you”
I whisper.
Because I do, more than anything I’ve ever loved in this whole world.
Even when the day feels like a tipped over bin. Even when I do.
They know how much I love them, I think as I slowly close their door.
They know…
***
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Photo: Sam Ivey