Yesterday my littlest woke me up before it was light, just like she does every morning, like she has every morning since I stopped nursing her through the night. I pulled her from her bed, brought her into mine. Her daddy lay still on her other side. She was on her back looking up at the ceiling fan as it slowly rotated. I curled into her and listened to her breathe. Her small, perfectly chubby hands found my hair, my neck, my cheeks. "Mommy, I'm ready for my milk and water and graham crackers," she cheerfully announced. Snuggle time over. Morning had officially begun.
We went downstairs, retrieved her snacks. I silently cursed the dishwasher which had failed to complete its cycle. Lu sat perched on the counter where she always sits while I do the morning chores - dishes, silverware, counters. I changed the date on the white board to attempt to orient my grandparents to the day ahead. I made tea. Lu sang.
We went upstairs and read from our giant stack of library books. Aida burst into the room, sleepy-eyed and smiling. She created a spot for herself in the rocking chair. Her daddy pulled himself out of bed and into his 6-mile-running shoes. We read some more, and listened to Lucy as she pretended to go to the fair, and relived the best moments from the previous evening's carnival. We got tired of waiting for Sister to wake up and Daddy to get home and make waffles so we went downstairs for a bowl of cereal.
Sophie galloped down. We cleaned up cereal bowls and moved to the front porch to await the arrival of that running Daddy. My favorite part of Saturday. Each of my big girls huddled into my sides, knees bent and nightshirts pulled over goose-bumpy legs. Lulee was on my lap. We swung and sang. It was raining, and it felt like fall. I breathed in fresh air and exhaled thanks.
We waited. Daddy came home. He turned on some music (heavy on the synthesizers) while he stretched and Lucy hopped down, poised to begin. Her favorite part of Saturday. She hopped, and ran, and spun, and bent in half so that her head was on the ground and her face peeked at us through her legs. She made faces and we laughed and laughed and laughed.
Inside for puzzles while Daddy finally made those waffles. Mimi restarted the dishwasher again. (I had a minor ridiculous freak-out moment.) The girls ate a 2nd breakfast. We putzed and puttered.
At lunchtime Aida cried about her head hurting and not wanting to eat. She crawled back into bed and I took her temperature. Fever. And then, after such a sweet morning, I found myself holding onto her and a tupperware bowl as she retched and spit and cried.
And I thought about how motherhood - or the idea of motherhood - inspires so many fantasies, and about how during my pregnancies I had these (silly) visions of cutely dressed children in coffee shops, sitting nicely or playing cards while I drank my vanilla latte. I haven't had a vanilla latte in years.
Motherhood is closing your eyes as you dump vomit from a bowl into the toilet. It is getting your heart tugged and squeezed and stomped on. It is poop all up in everywhere and it is trying with every ounce of self-control to stay calm and speak gently. It is working to forgive yourself when you don't. It is humbling and exhausting, and the best work I've ever done. It is chubby hands on my neck and songs on the front porch swing and the ache deep within that says, "This. Thank You for this."
