There was the day, my first Mother’s Day as a mother. I didn’t want to
think about it I didn’t want to celebrate it. I just wanted it to pass like any
other day. While I loved being a mother and loved my newborn twins, I didn’t
want to commemorate—which was only a few small steps from—commiserating my predicament
as a new mother. Yet, I felt a spark of joy when my sister-in-law came over and
delivered flowers.
Days like today when I’ve got a fierce headache and just want to
sleep. I will go to daycare and just pick up the twins, go home and feed them
whatever they want to eat and will try to sleep on the couch as they play
around me throwing toys and household items alike onto the floor and into the
garbage.
There are the days when I
miss my husband so badly, I could turn into a mournful wail. Instead, I quickly
divest myself of the longing dreams and visions of companionship, pop some
ibuprofen, drink a tincture of cramp bark and count the items on my to-do list
and the money in the bank. Two nights ago I called him at 2 am, after waking.
My thoughts spinning in circles, next to two babies snoring through noses full
of mucus. I paid $2.50 for a 5 minute call. I told him I just wanted to hear
his voice but really, I wanted so much more.
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