See, there's a lot going on over my head right now. A lot of struggles and pressures and storms. I'm sitting at my kitchen table surrounded by papers that I can't handle right now. Tired in ways I can't wrap words around. Broken in ways I know too well.
And, I needed a day to try to pull it all together. I really needed to spend some time on the floor while I worked on growing some more strength. I desperately needed to put the mask down for a little while today.
But the phone has been ringing almost nonstop since they left for the weekend. As they always do, the girls have called a zillion times on my weekend "off". To tell me they miss me. To tell me what they're watching on tv. To tell me the sky is blue. To hear my voice. They do this so many times that I start to let it ring a few times before I jump up to answer. They do this so often that I almost turn the ringer down when I'm trying to sleep. But I don't. I don't because I'm theirs. I don't belong to myself or a man or the world. Three little people own every piece of me, including the few peaceful hours I had been hoping for today. So, when the phone rang before 7am this morning, I rolled over to answer. My Maya. I could see her plain as if she were hovering over my bedside. Crazy morning hair, rumpled polka dot jammies, and half opened eyes. She wants to come home. "Of course you can, my love".
After hanging up, I sighed. For the disappointment I shouldn't feel. For the day I needed to regroup. For the coffee I wouldn't enjoy. Then I remembered - I belong to her.
I am home. For this kid, my lap is where she pulls it all together. For this kid, I am where no mask is needed. For this kid, nothing else will do.
One day, she won't want to spend a Sunday curled up at my side. One day, I'll be calling her at 7am... And she'll turn the ringer off. One day, she won't beg me to come hold her hand. She won't always want me to come have lunch at school. And she won't rest her head on my chest in front of all of her friends. One day, this kid will not need me.
Yes, it'll get easier. I'll get to sleep and read. I'll complete a thought or a sentence or even a day without being interrupted by an update on the happenings in Gotham. One day, I'll get to the papers that overwhelm me and I'll be able to fall apart in the solitude I would covet today. I'll be able to go for long runs and take short naps. There will come a time when my full time, no day off, just be happy you were able to slam the coffee before the raven haired beauty peeked around the corner days will be easier.
But it won't get better.
Nothing is better than being homebase. Nothing beats being the only human on earth whose voice can soothe a hurting heart or an upset belly. There is no greater feeling than a tiny hand sneaking into the hands you've been clenching in stress and fear. A full night's sleep would be nice and a break in the barrage of problems would be practically orgasmic, but opening the front door to find a relieved smile and the gentle eyes of a child come home? It doesn't get any better.
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