A Heavy Nod of Defeat

A heavy nod of defeat for the day. Four nights in a row of only two interrupted hours of sleep for each night. Sleep rhythms are currently as irregular and unpredictable as the summer storms that often blow through and miss us recently. I miss the rain. I miss it like I miss sleep. My mind is dry and body feels pulled and clawed and pinched off into one thousand pieces and seemingly go missing for long periods of time as if of very same little fingers ran off and put those bits of my heart and mind in their pockets and forgot about them.

In a way I suppose it’s true. My heart and consciousness are always on my babies. Always on my husband. Mama look at me. Anna look at me. We need you. I need you. Amongst friendships and clients and being a wife and a mama and business owner what is left of me at the end of some days is raw. Raw like the skin under your nails after digging out weeds in the garden box. Worn as thin as the threadbare linen that holds the baby against my skin nearly every day. Skin that is never not being touched by someone. I know every other mama knows this bittersweet pain. The every day pull in so many directions and having nothing left of yourself for yourself. God damn this world it ever expects me to be perfect. To be on time for a play date. To have a house that doesn’t have a layer of cracker crumbs on the floor mere seconds after the third round of vacuuming for the day. To remember every single friends birthday on time. To even remember to put mascara on the other eye.

As I write this in broken stolen moments I still have one pulling at my shirt again to nurse himself to sleep and another asking for a sixth round of “ten tiny toes” and my love sitting at my feet looking over with a mutual silent “I miss you too” on his face and my heart feels like cracked bone porcelain. This is the scene I set before you. That every mother holds in her breast. We tuck ourselves into everyone else’s pocket until only the barest bit of self is left and in a split second of selfishness know that really those three sets of pockets are the happiest place my self could ever be.

Anna Laero Salyers

Anna Laero is a professional photographer and freelance writer who spends most of her days with her sons dancing to jazz music in the kitchen while baby wearing and imagining she's a pastry chef  😆

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