Sometimes being thankful isn’t word enough. And sometimes when we’re thankful, we’re not wordy enough.
Like the time that post-birth your mother drives, through the night, at 85 miles per hour to see the birth of your second child, her fourth grandchild (in 2 years). About 250 miles between her and home, but she sees you and you know she feels like she’s in her element. Somehow, 30 years later, holding her grandchild, you’re just as much her baby as you were back in 1984.
And the raging hormones shoot through you, ready to weep or scorch the earth before you. Going from I’m ok, to get the fuck away in a matter of moments. And your apologies come on the heels of another bout of what you’re doing right now is driving me crazy. And the whole time your heart is screaming.
Thank you for being here, Mom.
Thank you for offering to hold the baby, chase the toddler, weed the gardens, paint the side door, pick up a new smoke detector, and clean the parts to my breast pump.
It’s Monday, and she’s leaving Wednesday, celebrating 10 years with my step-dad Friday… and me to fend for myself until the weekend. I’m not sure what will happen, but I know she’s just a phone call away… and I’m so thankful for that (and that my mother-in-law is never more than a few miles away, too!).
It’s another week… Camille’s second, in fact… and I’m so ready to take Monday head-on!
Have a beautiful week, Reader! And thank you for your continued readership! I promise I’ll be back in full force before the end of the year!