Sisters | Life | Three Kids
From the category archives:
Please bring us two ginger ales
And one small glass of water
That looks like a ginger ale
Because this little one sitting here
Wants everything her older siblings have.
She can’t possibly wait three years.
But I’m not ready for soda
In the hands of my baby
And so I thank you, waitress,
For the glass with ice, straw
That satisfies my toddler’s need.
(And makes dinner out easier, too.)
{ 14 comments }
We sleep together
A toddler between us
And I am happy
Her toes at my knees
Your toes
touching
mine
And I realize
I am good at this
now
This parenting at night
Better than I was when we were in so deep for so long
The years of nights stretching out from the long days
No guaranteed hours of quiet
The resisting being needed
The resentment of being needed
And now
together
this rare night of a child between us
I lay half asleep
rubbing her back
listening to you breathe and sigh
And I think again
I know how to do this
And I realize how much of my waking days now
I spend going through the motions
Wondering if I know what I am doing
at
all.
{ 14 comments }
“In case we disappear for a few days. Ya know?”
Sarah wrote this in an e-mail to me, in response to my continued amazement at the liquid intake of my son. She and I each have a child who consumes copious amounts of liquid. Juice cups are filled and refilled throughout the day. Thermoses are constantly on hand. And while I sincerely hope there is no correlation between their intake of apple juice and water now to the amount of alcohol they ingest in their teen years, it really is remarkable to witness.
It’s also extremely irritating. No matter what, there is always a refill needed.
Meanwhile, my tank is so low that I walk around most days with a tightness in my chest and near shortness of breath.
My son is not diabetic.
I am not in the early stages of heart failure.
Our situation is not so easy to diagnose. I have plenty to drink, but my emotional reserves are never, ever adequate.
Being needed all the time defines the phrase “It’s a blessing and a curse.” Being a mother fulfills a part of me that nothing else could have. I know this with confidence. Having children also drains me in ways that no amount of physical exercise ever has.
Sometimes I wish I could just disappear for a few days.
When my daughter asked me what I wanted for my birthday, I told her, “Two days alone.” She looked at me like I had told the biggest untruth she’d ever heard. She was completely dumbfounded. “But, Mama. We have to spend your birfday togevver. As a famiwy.”
Yes. Together. We do. It’s important. I have been presented with the most thoughtful and truly heart-warming homemade drawings. I have even been given a real house made of cards–old business cards–and transparent tape. It is elaborate. My almost-5-year-old (“But Mama…”) worked hard on it. My baby (not a baby, I know) has said, “Happy Birthday, Mom” over and over, in near perfect diction. We had blueberry pie for breakfast. It’s been a good birthday. We are all here. There have been fewer than usual fights and less shrieking and unproductive noise. More than usual hugs and kisses. Not as many “No” utterances. More time for me to write. My reserves are a tiny bit replenished.
But my chest still is tight. I still want those two days. They can come at another time. It doesn’t have to be ON my birthday. But time is the only way I know to refill myself in the way that I need to. And I need to.
{ 28 comments }
