It's 10:39pm and soon enough I'll be asleep and I'll wake up tomorrow morning and forget what tonight felt like.
And no one but Hal will know that I smoked on the stoop in my shower cap to keep my hair from smelling. Which is why I'm writing this post. Because this is part of it, too.
A friend sent me to Rebecca's blog days after I myself discovered I was carrying twins, a few weeks before she delivered her magical girls, Bo and Revi. Her photography is captivating, her voice pure, and her life seemingly filled with whimsy; until it isn't.
I read this post with tears streaming down my face, having last night snapped at my little boy, just shy of three, who tries with all his might to avoid bedtime every. single. day.
We get water, read books, NO, not those books!, put lotion on his poor chapped skin, find the right blanket, pillow, stuffed animal. We lie in bed, I use my sweet voice, offer one last kiss. No mama, NO BEDTIME.
FINE, I respond. GOODNIGHT. No hug. No kiss.
I retrieve his brother, read him his book and water, no complaints. He falls deep into my arms as I carry him to bed, feet hanging and head on my shoulder; soft, sweet. I enter their bedroom to whimpering. Mama, he sadly whispers, I need a kiss and a hug.
Upon first glance, it may seem I had won, but parenting is not supposed to be a battle. I've made him sad, lonely, mournful that he didn't get to say goodbye; it destroys me. I feel my chest tighten; he deserves someone who can handle his feelings.
Life is loud. So loud, that sometimes I have to close my eyes and cover my ears to escape the moment, to prevent myself from thrashing. Then there are those times that are quiet, muted, dreamy.... Loud is what life sounds like when it isn't resting. Loud is all I've ever really wanted. Loud is where I find my peace.
Read the rest of Rebecca's beautiful post, (and don't forget the tissues).