It’s yet again a battle to get the kids into pjs, teeth brushed, and have them safely tucked into bed (and willing to stay there). I’ve been cranky again, and I know it doesn’t help the process, but they seem to make it difficult every. single. night. As a mother who’s been out all day, trying to further my own dreams at the expense of time with them, the guilt of not being around after school makes me stay a bit longer by their bedsides, makes me answer one more question when I know they should be shutting their mouths and eyes for sleep, makes me sing yet one more song, not quite ready to leave them.
“She’s asleep, Mum,” whispers the eldest, leaning out of bed towards me to point at her sister. I know, I felt her fingers relax in mine even as I watched her eyes finally flutter closed and still. But I can’t resist the beauty of this moment, the preciousness of the child I birthed in my own bathtub, the peace that is this whirlwind-of-a-child finally still.
This peace sinks into me, too, washing away the anger and frustration, the guilt of not even enjoying these few moments with them, the burning shame of wanting to escape from my own children, and the sick dread that it will all just repeat itself again tomorrow…
Join me over at The New Mystique to read more of the beautiful forging my daughters bring to my life.