Today I cried. In unison with my newly born son and toddling daughter. I sat right there on the corner of the couch and I cried, weeped even- inconsolable, exhausted, unusually heavy. In between the weeps was a chant coming from my daughter's perfect mouth, the one that was made by my own body and has grown so much over the last 22 months, along with her blossoming vocabulary (I'm so proud of her vocabulary.)... "Mama, Mama, Mama!" I've always wanted that name and now it's mine. All mine.
These calls to attention made me weep harder, made her weep harder, made him weep harder. My mind is busy with thoughts of how I thought I might be as a mother of two and how I am consistently and repetitively falling short of my own expectations. I'm so tired. My boobs hurt, I smell of cheesy milk, my uterus is in a ball, I threw out my neck and can't turn my head, my house is a mess... and... I know... I'm so damn lucky (seriously, I know).
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