It’s taken me five months to realize what’s wrong.
Five good months since the birth of my child.
Five months of kisses and cuddles and bleary-eyed marches; blaring noise and silent sleep.
All this time and all this experience it took me to notice things around me:
Systems out of whack. Needs untended. Tweaks to be made.
Funny, how the way you realize you’re surviving is the ability to see what’s awry.
One day, you feel the slight twinge of annoyance. Stress at the the logistics of life. And you think, wait, I’ve reentered the real world without even realizing it. Without any fanfare. No great plunge. But a gradual dipping in of toes, then ankles, calves – until suddenly the cold on your belly button makes your breath catch.
It is exhilarating and chilling at the same time.
You’re doing it. You’re living life, your life, while navigating the care of that of your little one. It’s never easy, always imperfect. It may turn your lips blue and make your teeth chatter, but you’re afloat.
And that is a feat in and of itself.