Time is like dark chocolate stashed in the house. It doesn’t last long. And I’m always wanting more.
It’s been a long two months. Sleep deprivation, ear infections and colds, babies who won’t sleep, raging tempers, Oscar-worthy meltdowns, timeouts…my household seems full of insurgents of every kind. As such, you’ve been as neglected as this body of mine, this body that aches with the tension of motherhood and whose eyes burn. A body that houses a hip bone that surely could be patented for the way it’s been permanently molded to fit Indigo’s growing frame.
Still, the desert warms like a fresh-baked cookie and the sunsets bleed of Technicolor. The birds in my backyard sing and argue their teensy hearts out. This backdrop of nature exhales for me when my body can’t, keeps my blood pumping just enough so that it doesn’t boil.
And Father Time’s hours and minutes torture me; creeping when the girls are screaming simultaneously while I’m on the phone and then zooming quickly when they finally relent to the begging call of sleep.
So, sweet blog o’mine, stick with me. You aren’t forgotten. Rather, words like “tired! desperate! insane! weary!” and the occasional “for f*ck’s sake!” (thanks, Kayrene) are the only contributions I’d have been able to make during these first months of the rat year. You deserve better.
In the meantime, be well while my measly stats fizzle.
PS to my fellow bloggers whom I adore: just know that I’m still visiting your blogs and being way too half-ass to comment.