She says, just like she does every day as I pull the heavy quilt to her shoulders; her little body so lonely in her big-girl bed.
The room is dark; the blinds pulled shut against the winter sun.
The gentle whooshing of the sound machine envelops us as I turn toward the door, thinking of all that waits for me downstairs…
The mountains of laundry to be washed, and even more to be folded;
the scattered dishes from lunch and who knows how many other meals.
I won’t even bother with the toys – she’ll just get back to it after nap…
I was going to write that email…
So many projects waiting in the studio…
But first I need to clean it…
Oh, and those thank you notes…
Did I take meat out of the freezer?
“Will you sleep with me?” she asks again. I bend down to kiss her forehead and tell her,
“Mama has to do some work, baby girl. I need to go downstairs and-”
Suddenly I stop.
I am just so damn tired.
I’m tired of making grocery lists and checklists, and still forgetting things.
I’m tired of being late all the time and feeling not-good-enough.
Tired of trying over and over; chasing after something I’ll never catch –
When the thing I actually need is right in front of me.
She had already made room for me. So I slide beneath the blanket.
Our noses touch and she laughs. The best sound I’ve heard all day.
She throws her arm around my neck and presses her face to mine.
I breathe her in and close my eyes; promising myself I won’t stay.
But I do.