Sometimes when I think about the time I’ve wasted I feel sick. My life is a string, I am somewhere along it. And someday I will reach the end. The part where my children’s strings and my strings are intertwined is also unknown. How long before they don’t ask for snuggles, hugs, pick-me-ups, sit-on-your-laps?
The distance is growing. It both frees my mind to imagine what I might do with my life when it is no longer tangled so emmensly in everyone else’s strings; and it also makes me sad.
The nights that I rush my kids to bed. “I’m too tired to snuggle, I have too much to do”. The nights I lie on the opposite edge of the bed as my husband, backs facing with an ocean of bed between us.
Wasted moments. We slowly move along our strings.
I had an opportunity the other night. My son begged to sleep with me. My husband couldn’t get further away from me. Why pass this up? I got up, went downstairs and carried my big 7 year old lump of sweetness and warmth into the guest room, tucked him in with me and breathed it in. His fingers reached out for my hair and even though he never fully woke up he knew I was there.
Motherhood is not a fairy tale though. Our sweet snuggling was quickly replaced with feet in my back as he insisted on sleeping sideways in the big bed.
I’m not kidding.
Still, I sucked in the good and reassured myself it was not wasted. That morning he petted my face and smiled when I opened my eyes. One of the best things in the world. I wonder how many of those are left on my string.