Mother Prayer

The days are blurs full of nursing and naps and feeding and dressing and playing and laughing and crying. Waiting for them to wake up or go back to sleep. There’s food on the floor, their hands, my clothes. And always the question: are we going somewhere today? At night, we sleep in a mama sandwich with one on each side of me. They roll in to cuddle or nurse, when they need to know they are not alone. I don’t know if I’m doing this right. If I should wean faster or do some kind of sleep training or if I’ve let their diets slide too far from optimal. Some moments are the best I’ve ever experienced. I’m more alive and fulfilled than I have words for. Others, I’m so tired and energetically exhausted, all I can do is lay on the dog while I wait for the afternoon coffee to brew. I cannot say I really imagined what this would be before it happened. I knew it was something great, hard, and scary, Like that running down to the garden in the dark and seeing the stars, Like that first real trip you took on your own, Like that moment when you suddenly realize that THAT person, is your person. I hope I look back with love. With a bemused compassion for my own self saying, “You’re there. You’re in it, my love.” I hope I focus on those precious moments. And I hope it makes me more gentle, more soft, more patient, more kind.