I’m struggling to come up with something to say this week, aside from the rather tedious update that I am once again sick, along with everyone else in our house, and that I’m feeling thoroughly ground down by the whole experience. So I’m going to try something new, writing a short piece based on a prompt one of my Writer’s Club friends shared with us recently:
What is true in this moment?
Here goes.
In this moment, I feel exhausted and discouraged. The prospect of finding a home feels daunting. The prospect of finding some new healthy and delicious recipes and making meal after meal this week feels daunting. Making it through this afternoon feels daunting.
I am also comfortable and warm, tucked in my bed with a hot water and lemon as I write. I am wishing I had written a post earlier this week, so that I could be resting right now instead of trying to do this, but it simultaneously feels good to be doing this. I am grateful to be inside and warm as I listen to the sounds of cars passing by on the main street nearby. I am grateful for blue skies and the afternoon sun reflecting off the stark white of the house across the road, lending extra brightness to our bedroom.
In this moment I am sitting with the duality of being so exhausted by motherhood that sometimes I honestly don’t know how I’m going to continue functioning, and simultaneously feeling so grateful that my child is absolutely the sweetest most lovable creature on the entire planet. I am wrestling with the deep desire (or more accurately, the need) to have more support and childcare, and this overwhelming ache I feel in my chest when I think of missing out on a single second of Ava’s precious and fleeting early years.
I am surrounded by stuffed animals and children’s books, remnants of our morning. Seeing that I was sick, first Ava brought me Ballerina Mouse, then Bunny and Canadian Bear, then Big Bunny, then her doll “Baby Ava”, and Julia and Jellyfish and Vincenzo Fox and Doggy and Ducky and Tigey and Kitty, then lastly Geraldine the Giraffe. And then some tissue. And then she climbed over the massive pile of animals next to me, saying “I want to be with you” and snuggled up beside me to read stories.
As much as it sucks to have a sick kid and to have woken up multiple times in the night to comfort her, I think today would have been even harder if she’d been well and full of energy. She was content to mostly lie around with me, snuggling up and reading stories, and I honestly didn’t have the energy to do anything else.
In this moment, I am jumping ahead as I do, strategizing about tomorrow and how I’m going to get through it and planning ahead to taking some cold meds so I can hopefully be reasonably functional. Then I’m pulled back to the present by the sound of water splashing on the sidewalk out front, and baffled that my neighbour still insists on washing his driveway. Daily. It boggles the mind.
I’m listening to Ava cough and hoping that I have a bit more time before she wakes up from her nap. I spent the first hour of this nap reading the last chapter of White Teeth, and after hitting publish on this, I’m hoping I’ll have a little time to dive into a design book I have sitting on my night table.
In this moment, the weight and the seriousness of adulthood that has descended upon me in the last few years feels daunting. In this moment I am missing the arrogance of youth, now lost to me forever.