Secret Letters

Secret Letters

Dear S,

It’s not news to you that I’ve been a mess this weekend. I keep trying to put a finger on how I feel, but keep coming up short. Motherhood has stretched me to the outer limits of all the emotions I’ve ever felt, sometimes in both directions at once.

This weekend I’ve felt a new breed of exhaustion, I think. It’s the exhaustion that comes from having a week where I haven’t showered alone or eaten with two hands or had more than a handful of adult conversation. And then I keep going and want desperately to be at my best because my well-being has a direct impact on J.

Last night, after our baby finally fell asleep, I sat on the couch eating hummus and tortilla chips trying to not cry again. That’s when you showed me this project, these letters you have been secretly writing to us. I read through each of them and just sobbed.

They are officially the things I would grab in a fire. They are full of the wonder and complexity of this strange new stage in our lives, full of your gentleness and kindness, and most of all of your attentive gaze. You notice things. Precious things I almost forgot.

Parenthood is desert and garden, often both in a single hour. One minute I feel starved of everything I need to function and then I feel J’s breath on my neck and it’s all garden in an instant. And at this moment, as I write this letter, J is kicking his little legs on the floor, examining his activity mat as if for the first time.

He reaches up to touch your knee and looks up at you. You return his gaze. I can almost see the blossoms, new and pink as the magnolia on our corner.

Z

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