Thrilled to be published on Mamalode this month, talking about whether or not we exist beyond our children.
There are goldfish crackers ground into your carpet. There is a small streak of peanut butter on the side of your sofa that matches the height of a toddler who just earned the right to walk around while he eats his snack. Who am I kidding? He won’t sit in the high chair anymore, and the only way you can convince him to eat is to let him walk around with a smashed sandwich in his hand. There are exactly 247 Legos scattered across your 5-year-old’s bedroom, none of which are the exact ones he is looking for when he’s yelling through the bathroom door that “the little blue piece is GONE Mom!” There is a curling iron on the floor of your bathroom. It hasn’t been used in approximately 39 weeks. That’s not true, your 3-year-old used it “to shoot water at bad guys!” just this morning.
There are lacy underthings in your nightstand drawer. You refuse to pack them away because someday, somehow, you will feel like sliding into them again when you have an uninterrupted, blissful minute with your partner. There is a cold cup of coffee in your hand. There is a smiley face on a post-it note attached to your 1st graders lunchbox. She’s struggling with reading, but she can read the love in that smiley face. There was yelling this morning. Rushing. Muttering under your breath. There was spilled cereal and a bus that almost drove away without her. There were untied shoes and unspoken worries and an underdressed baby tucked underneath your arm as you rushed and brushed and washed.
You don’t have to say it. I know….