I could remember the days of repetitious routines - The mind numbing constants... The early wake-ups, the around the clock feedings, and the midnight crying for more snuggles.
I could remember being pulled in so many directions that I swore I'd eventually break apart...
I couldn't even stand in one place long enough to have a conversation with my husband, because, something instinctual in my children was determined to cry at that very second.
And at the end of my long days, I'd sit motionless in the darkness for a moment, before it would begin all over again. And I used to dream of a time where I could hear the birds chirping outside, because my home was quiet...
It's a hard concept to comprehend how much changes in just a few short years. How, when you drop both children off at school and come to an empty home, where their toys are left in mid motion... The kindles quietly sit on the kitchen table, Wonder Woman is laying in the hallway, a Junie B Jones book is sitting on the kitchen counter, and the Xbox is still warm from playing Roblox minutes before school started.
My home is too quiet that it is actually uncomfortable...
I tidy up, make the beds, and prep dinner. But my soul is thirsty for the noise, the commotion, and the need.
And I'm still learning how to navigate daily tasks, without being pulled in 100 different directions.
But most of all, through my travels, I leave those scattered motionless toys exactly where my children left them. Because to me, it feels like they're still here. But as soon as I put them back in their spots, the feeling of me being alone will only grow larger.
So I sometimes find myself wandering through my home, walking in and out of empty rooms, replacing the hollow spaces with memories from the past.
And that time I once dreamed of a quiet home, sticks through me like a knife cutting through butter...
And now, I sit in the quiet, counting down the clock until I see my larger than life personality ridden children again...
No comments:
Post a Comment