mama hips

June 15, 2010

Dirty and and tired and loving every second of it.

Just when I think I’ve got this, I don’t. Just when I step out a little on either side to fill in the space I I know I can reach I reach it alright but there is a whole new feeling of discomfort there. Same cycle; I just went from the tense phase to the bugging our stage and now am in the what the fuck stage. Dirty and and tired and loving every second of it.

It’s 8 o’clock at night, I just put Danaë to bed. I am writing this post in the kitchen having just finished packaging tomorrow’s breakfast and lunch for all of us, iPhone in hand to give existence to the flow of words in my head.

Five minutes prior to this, I was living the scene in my movie where I standing in my kitchen at the end of the day, romanced by Ann Peebles in my hips when the music swells compelling me to stop take a deep breath, put my hands over head and let all the exasperation out. The sound of the lady blues: I’m doing what mother after mother after mother has done; work at taking care of their babies. For all of us, its work on some level and for most of us we have had the moment when all we can do is sigh and know its all alright and that bed isn’t too far off.

Fucking hell today took a lot of effort. At one point, I literally didn’t think I could handle another second of exerting energy. Physically drawn to walking out and going to sleep, unable to put a cranky, over awake child to sleep and feeling like I have lost my mom superpowers. But I didn’t, and she went to sleep happy and I got a shower and here I am, clean and tired and leaning on the kitchen counter stealing a moment to write and can’t wait to get to sleep with my love.

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