down time

I have a million things to do so of course I spent too much time in bed deleting hundreds of photos from my phone. What I noticed the most this time, as I was scrolling through the years, were all the sleepless nights and early mornings, every holiday, every weekend day and night, when I was doing it all by myself. Making up adventures, passing the days, making memories with both of my babies by myself. Lifting the car seat, the stroller, handling every meltdown, watching the clock counting down to bedtime, by myself. That loneliness in those first several months of new baby-hood, amplified by how much I actually was alone through most of it. Parenthood is hard. It is so fucking hard. It is so fucking lonely. Add on someone who was there, but not there. Someone who was there, but only taking. Taking my time, my energy. I had to care for him, for them, keep everyone alive, while pieces of me started to fade away. To die. I had to choose to live. I had to fight to live. Maybe you never knew this. Maybe you never saw this. I don’t know what you saw. My steps are sure now. I have a purpose other than keeping everyone alive. I am keeping myself alive. I feel how things feel when I touch them now. I feel their purpose. I feel how they’re connected to me, and to my babies, and to you. I know love, and it’s not transactional. I know joy without fear. I don’t pretend to be someone I’m not, even if I’m not sure of my self on some days. I’m not a wife. I don’t belong to anyone. I share time with people who treat me like a whole entire person. I delete photos. I delete hundreds of photos.