Push and Pull

The weather's been so weird

lately.

Blazing hot

turned to

gloom

turned to

rain

turned to

mug.

The air feels

still and heavy.

Paul's been working a lot

and so have I.

And we kind of just pass one another

in the halls of our home

and the halls of our life

and we're working to pay bills

from the past

and build dreams

for the future;
working to keep the train moving,
all housekeeping
and play dates,
basketball schedules
and school applications.

And everything is safe

and calm

and very sane.

It's all

same.

I meant sane.

I meant same.

I'm not used to either.

What do you do

when you've

spent your whole life

telling yourself

you're a seeker

and a wild child

and everything you've sought

is here in your hand

and all the wild

is anchored,

tethered,

to dreams

that have actually come true?

That question

flaps its wings inside of me

and

I don't know the answer.

Probably because

the neurosis in me
can't comprehend

the simplicity of

enjoy it.

My friends are all having babies.

Instagram feeds

a mile long

filled to the brim

with wrinkly newborn skin

and soft downy hair.

My babies are 9 and 5.

I don't have babies,

I have boys.

I can't remember
the weight of them in my arms,

and I so long to.

Presently I exist

with an ever lingering
sentimental craving

for another baby.

This desire to remember,

and be,

to plan and make

to soak it all in

because I didn't do that with

my other pregnancies.

I was propelled through the experience;

holding onto my sanity as best I could,

pretending to not be afraid,

just trying to survive man

and now they sleep through the night

and they smell like sweat

and they dress themselves

and

I want back into Babyland.

Ticket please.

I had a meltdown yesterday.

There was traffic

and

I was hot

and 

I was tired

and

James had basketball in an hour

and

I couldn't find Lucas' basketball shorts

and

my job is exhausting and unfulfilling

and

we struggle to make ends meet

and

I kept thinking about all of this

and

then Paul found me in the boys' room

wrestling with the hamper

and

the dam burst.

Because I'm still

just trying to survive man.

But also trying to hang onto

every morsel of this life

because it's flying by.

Days and weeks and months

and grades

and please don't let go of my hand

and please let me be here

without being concerned with there

and tomorrow

and shopping lists

and laundry

and food menus.

This is my mom's life.

I have my mom's life.

And I feel like an imposter sometimes.

And then I feel trapped.

And then I feel guilty for feeling trapped

because this is all I ever wanted.

"And you want another one",

Paul will say

as he holds my tear-streaked face

and keeps kissing my nose while I sob.

And I do not undervalue

the man who loves me in such a way

that I can fall apart like that,

he who keeps a straight face

while I cry over my perceived ineptitude.

Holds me silently

as I stand in the middle of the chaos

that is every day living

for a family of four,

because this is some real shit you guys,

no Instagram filter here.

I've fallen from Neverland.

I used to be a Lost Boy

but now I am a pirate.

Plus side:

I get to ride the coattails

of my two Pans.