Text received: I love you.
From that 12 year old man-child. From the one who is uncertain he wants me beside him as he walks up to his teammates at practice. Did he really just send this? At school? Were his friends around? Does it matter? He sent it.
A catch in my throat. An ache in my chest. I was okay before this. I will be okay. I will be okay. I will be okay. I enter Kroger and see a tired looking mom, strapping two wiggly toddlers into the basket, their chubby feet swinging.
I quickly walk past, brushing off the tears that have suddenly appeared on my cheeks. I am not okay. I am not okay. I am not okay.
I miss my babies. I miss them so much it hurts. Physically. My arms feel heavy and empty as I walk. I imagine Caleb's small hand in mine. Maddie's arm around my waist. I want to hug Parker and rest my chin on his head. I want Jack to curl up in my lap.
A big nest empties slowly. It's deceiving. A mother of many believes she'll never be alone. Until she is. This silence is strange and disconcerting.
And then suddenly the silence is gone. Four bodies pile into the van, all talking at once, arguing over the radio station, pestering each other, asking a million questions. I take a deep breath. I remember. This, this is what I wanted. I wanted them. All of them. All of their questions, all of their complaints, all at once. This is what I signed up for.
Their loud conversation continues, but I interrupt them.
"Hey kids?" [expectant pause] "Do you know what I love about you?"
[I get an eye roll from some and a grin from others...They've heard this one before.]
"Everything."
(Special thanks to Grammy Susie for that line.)
From that 12 year old man-child. From the one who is uncertain he wants me beside him as he walks up to his teammates at practice. Did he really just send this? At school? Were his friends around? Does it matter? He sent it.
A catch in my throat. An ache in my chest. I was okay before this. I will be okay. I will be okay. I will be okay. I enter Kroger and see a tired looking mom, strapping two wiggly toddlers into the basket, their chubby feet swinging.
I quickly walk past, brushing off the tears that have suddenly appeared on my cheeks. I am not okay. I am not okay. I am not okay.
I miss my babies. I miss them so much it hurts. Physically. My arms feel heavy and empty as I walk. I imagine Caleb's small hand in mine. Maddie's arm around my waist. I want to hug Parker and rest my chin on his head. I want Jack to curl up in my lap.
A big nest empties slowly. It's deceiving. A mother of many believes she'll never be alone. Until she is. This silence is strange and disconcerting.
And then suddenly the silence is gone. Four bodies pile into the van, all talking at once, arguing over the radio station, pestering each other, asking a million questions. I take a deep breath. I remember. This, this is what I wanted. I wanted them. All of them. All of their questions, all of their complaints, all at once. This is what I signed up for.
Their loud conversation continues, but I interrupt them.
"Hey kids?" [expectant pause] "Do you know what I love about you?"
[I get an eye roll from some and a grin from others...They've heard this one before.]
"Everything."
(Special thanks to Grammy Susie for that line.)
No comments:
Post a Comment