Motherhood right now is hour by hour, minute by minute. My eyes see only the cuts on their knees and the tans on their toes. Oak’s are speckled squares, evidence of the Natives he wears day in and day out. River’s are diagonal in form, a combination of her Saltwaters and the flip-flops she refuses to part with.
The days are hot, hot, hot; and the house is stale and messy. I am often reminded in its state something my neighbor said to me one afternoon, after I apologized for our home’s condition: “You are living. That’s what this is.” And what a glorious gift of a sentiment. So motherhood right now is living. There are no two ways about it.
This is surely the last summer River’s body will curl into mine and feel just as her newborn days. Her legs will reach past mine and arms will stretch out further off of the frame of my bed. This winter we will bundle and try our best to hole up tight in our little apartment. We will watch movies in the evening until she falls asleep in my arms. And as winter’s grand finale, she will blow out six candles atop her strawberry cake and ring in the year with gusto.
Until that distinct chill enters the city, motherhood and me will bask in summer’s offering: smaller children in my bed at the end of a sweaty adventure, tiny bodies curled into mine own, little legs wrapped around my legs. Dark spiral curls to kissing my nose and her every breath touching my hand as she doses off to sleep like a baby still. Her arm won’t stretch too far beyond the bed frame–just yet.
Motherhood right now is a single moment of summer haze wrapped in joy. Simply and gloriously so, motherhood right now is living. What a gift.
