On the longest nights I’ve said things so sharp I could taste the blood after, I wish I could have just said, “I just want you to feel what I do right now”, but honesty is hard to pull out from mixed anger and confusion.
I’ve had the most love filled days you could imagine, where I haven’t looked through an unfocused lens, worried about what life should look like, and let the happiness wash over me.
I’ve had nightmares and intrusive thoughts about accidents happening to my children and it’s felt as if my heart has been ripped from my chest, nights where leaning over their cot and simply hearing them breathe has brought me back to life.
I’ve sat with my husband in a sleep deprived state, both of us unshowered speaking to a real estate agent in our home, fresh suit, spoke precisely, the white of his eyes were so damn white, and I wondered… if he was human, what were we? When he left we laughed for ages.
I’ve had days where 10072 tabs are open and I haven’t been able to let them go, I haven’t been able to realise that being present is what’s important, so I’ve turned into the frazzled mum, the one who furiously cleans to feel as if something’s been achieved, as if raising humans isn’t one of them.
I’ve had days where I’ve day dreamed about travelling again, child free, care free, not because I want to change my life, just a fantasy, maybe to pay homage to the girl I once was.
I’ve had days where I’ve looked across to my husband at the park, both of us carrying bikes, scooters and bags, thinking he was more handsome than ever, but didn’t say anything probably because I was still coming to terms with my own reflection.
I’ve had days where loving them so hard has hurt, where I can feel them in the sinews of my body, I am aglow with motherhood, where any other version of my life pales in comparison. But I won’t pretend some days haven’t felt messy, the wonderful makes it worth it, the messy makes it real, and I know it can be both. I know that now.
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