on shrieking and late afternoons.
the child has taken to shrieking when i leave the room.
not the usual, happy and somewhat adorable « remember, i’m here! » shriek. more like a « i’m getting eaten by bears! » shriek.
it is piercing. and rips my heart a bit every time. as though he truly feels that i won’t return.
these have been sleepless nights. breakless days.
kiddo finally tired enough, after stories and nursing, rocking and singing, to doze off.
a friend came by unexpectedly. we sat on the stoop for a bit, chatting, before he biked off for home.
in these moments too much of my energy is drained by trying not to sound manic, by trying to keep my body from betraying itself and showing too much of the raw intensity of these days.
i come back inside, only to realize that no, you can’t hear cries from the bedroom sitting out on the stoop, because the babe had been crying. (after some 30 minutes of ‘nap’)
motherhood : to do so much, give so much care, but to forever feel that it maybe isn’t enough. that you’re still failing in some way.
kiddo’s tear-stained face.
that moment when the figurative glue you mustered to keep it together gives.
and me mourning the abrupt end of my few minutes alone today.
and to be angry.
at my beautiful boy for a split second before realizing, hey, the babe’s doing what he needs to do.
at my buddy for popping by. (but i’ll be the first to bemoan the fact that folks in this city don’t just stop by. they make plans weeks in advance, with schedulers. so that’s lame)
and at myself for not being very good with boundaries and naming my own needs.
(and for giving in/buying in to this mama-guilt too often.)