We're watching Season 1 of The Wire, 'cause we're cool like that, and I'm wishing I had a cup of strong coffee at my side. And a piece of flourless chocolate cake. Mmm...that sounds good. But I don't and so I sit and write and rewrite and delete and save and keep writing. Glamorous, right?
Keeping this blog is a Dear Diary sort of experience and I don't really care who has access because that's too tiresome and I don't have time for that. And that's okay.
My oldest kid is closer to seven than she is to six. She's emotional and smart and funny. She's really funny. The other day I made a pork loin and she said to me, "I must have this recipe so I can make it when I'm older." Really?! I love her and yet she can be so aggravating, and she challenges me in a way that frightens me. I want to keep her from feeling left out and awkward and all those other feelings I went through growing up. I dread the stage where she wants nothing to do with me because I love her so much.
My middle child is nearly five years old and he's a hoot. I recall his infancy as stressful and hard, and he was just so sensitive. Nothing seemed to soothe his moods and I wanted him to just settle down and be calm. I hated hearing him cry and yet I didn't really know how to handle it. I let him cry in his crib and I wished for a different temperament. I wasn't a strong, able mother when he needed it most and I hate that. He's so talented at basketball, and he makes me laugh with his sense of humor. He says he doesn't want to live anywhere else than with me, but I know he'll change his mind.
My youngest is sweet and he was born into my hands. I am ready to be the mother he needs, and I know someday my older children will tell me I'm letting their younger brother get away with everything. But I don't think it's about that; my priorities in parenting are different than they were six years ago. I'm savoring these sweet milky heavy breaths and slobbery kisses, and I'm more aware of fucking basic needs. We need to be loved. We need to be held. We need to know that our loved ones will be there for us.
My husband and I have been in each other' lives for around 26 years though we don't have many memories of each other until we were in fifth grade. We dated for a few months when we were fourteen and then resumed dating again when we were seniors in high school. We have a lot of history and while that's added to our relationship, it doesn't define us. We're figuring out what it means to be parents and partners, and though it's not perfect, I don't see my future without him.
For now, I like to think of life as it is what it is. I'm going to be an old woman before I know it and my house will be clean and I'll finally own the white couch I've been coveting forever. I will hold onto these dear memories and wonder how in hell it went so fucking fast.
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