one day at a time

Half asleep I hear the pitter patter of little feet heading my direction. Although it’s still dark I know it means night is over, and I can’t help but wonder: how can such a small thing make so much noise?

As I struggle to stay awake during breakfast, I feel like a 45 inch vinyl next to a 33 inch playing at the same speed; they move and speak at a speed my brain cannot follow. They are recounting adventures that happened in their dreams, and dreaming about the possibilities the new day will bring. I watch with awe and envy wishing my body had half the energy and hope theirs has.

Riding on the bike, the sun shines while the breeze pulls my hair back. Two cheeky monkeys sing while holding tight. Their trust in me is absolute. Nothing bad can happen when they’re with their momma, and to some degree this makes me feel invincible. Maybe, just maybe, I could achieve just about anything.

Back from work I dump my tired body on the sofa and they throw themselves on to it. Their smell and their touch instantly revitalizes me. Their little feet stomp over me while their arms barely make it around my neck for a big-big hug. I’m under attack as they struggle to take possession of my body, as they fight for the best seat in the house, the one closest to my full attention. And although I barely have any to spare, I can’t help but smile and be grateful.

Bath time is war; they react to water like a clubber to speed. After one long shower, for both those in and outside the tub, every day I must run, struggle, negotiate and deceive them long enough to put their pajamas on. Their bodies are resisting arrest. Bubbly laughter as they escape my grip and go back to jumping, naked and still half wet, on the bed.

And finally night arrives. They are already excited about the next day. They want to know what we will do when we wake up. What will happen on the ever elusive tomorrow. One last, long and hard hug, as if I was going on a long boat trip to the other side of the world, and a soggy kiss goodnight.

Rationally, motherhood is the worse job ever. Irrationally, there’s nothing like it.