I always knew that mothering little ones would take up my time. I never quite understood what that really meant til they got here; it means no time alone in my head. Even if they are all asleep I am somehow thinking of them, aware of them the way you are aware of a faint headache even if it isn't demanding your attention. Wait, poor metaphor, I really don't think of them as a headache.
It started the moment that little stick that I peed on showed the purple line in the right window, and it hasn't stopped. Well, now they are too big to shove back in so that I can have an hour or so a day to myself, which for a while I tried to be okay with (besides, if I tried shoving them back in they would all start fighting over who got to sit where). So no complaints, after all, I signed on for this, right? I will get some time to my self in 18 years..., (no wait we had another one) so that's 18 more, (no wait...). Every mom probably learns that she needs time to herself at some point, and about four minutes later realizes that the only way she is going to get that is to hide in the garage.
I need a room of my own, a space that is mine that I can pile my thoughts into like the garage. I think at first I will just be opening the door and throwing them in. Maybe later I will try to sort them all out.
So here I am.
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