I write in my head every day. I write little thoughts, memories, snippets of life, musings, funny things, heartbreaking ones too. I write them down with all my might, in my head, multiple times a day. And barely any get saved for posterity. They are but ways to cope with life, my own way, writing through it all, even when I can’t.
As of a couple of months ago, I have been committing some of these thoughts to paper. Incoherent, written in stolen moments as the kettle boils, or dinner cooks, or on my way to settle a baby calling for her mother. It’s amazing what connecting with yourself does to you. In case you’re wondering, it clears the fog and don’t we all need a bit of blue skies in our lives?!
This morning is the first time I have to myself in over 10 months. The first time I’m not rushing to the next thing, running against the clock that is life with two small children. In a pandemic. With very little external support. As I sit here, next to my red berry cup of tea which I will get to savour warm, typing away, I realise how good life has been.
See, that’s something I’m so very guilty of; lack of perspective. The perspective of an empty screen, a familiar keyboard, and a warm cup of tea tells me I’ve been mostly exactly where I wanted to be for the last 10 months. And that’s both true and utterly amazing.
All of a sudden, the house is quiet and I can cherish all the noise that has been and is to come. The baby babbling, her chubby little hands grabbing at everything with the delight of discovery! Oh may you never lose that joy, my sweet girl. Her brother whispering how much he loves her, and then repeating it out loud, proudly. The big feelings and the little enormous ones. Taking them as they are. Watching them grow and forge their own path. What a rich life, what amazingly full days I’ve had.
Sure, there was sadness, and confusion, and pain, and loss in the last 10 months. There still is. And I’ll deal with it, and as everything in life, it will pass and come and go and leave again. But I’ve got this.