Sunday, April 22, 2007

Quiet Hum of the House

Noah's asleep. I can breathe now.

I've been breathing all day -- but you know what I mean.

If you're a mom, you probably really know what I mean. I breathe for my son all day -- what can I feed him for breakfast, wait what about the protein source; mop up breakfast making sure I won't trip on him playing behind me; watch him closely for nap signs - is he tired or can we get out of the house to breathe in the fresh spring day.

He is my tree -- the tree that I cannot see the forest through. I am always up close, breathing, watching for fun and also for clues with my mind -- anticipating, planning: will we be gone through lunch? Yes, so what can I pack up to eat on the road? What's the weather like does he need his jacket? I'll need his shoes where did I leave them?

The bowl of rice and beans sits on the dinner table, next to the jar of roasted red peppers from Trader Joe's. Let them be. I prioritize with a half glass of spicy wine and a square of bittersweet dark chocolate. I am down to taking care of only one person right now. Right now, I breathe for me.

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