Monday, January 7, 2008
before I fall asleep
I have been having trouble sleeping. More than usual. Maybe it is THE TRIP. Leaving my little monkey baby (my latest nickname for Ezzie) for the first time. Maybe it is the music which should be soothing but is instead making me feel meloncholy and wistful. One minute I wish my kids would just grow up, get out of my hair, let me sleep for chrissakes. Let me finish a book, a small painting, the dishes, the dinner, my toast. Let me take a shower in peace. Let me get out of the house without an ounce of guilt. Let me look decent, it must be their fault that Iook like shit most of the time (bad skin and hair, 90 yr.old teeth). Then, they are quiet (sleeping), and I think of their smell, their fuzzy, tiny heads at birth, those sleeping infant noises. How they really need me. I mean NEED me, like no one on earth needs anyone. For comfort, food, security and love. How close we are at birth to death. How tenuous Henry's first few days felt. How the doctor thought Ezzie might be stuck. How any day they or I could get hurt. And oh my God, what if I get hurt. Before I had kids I would sometimes get all angsty and think about death. I can't fathom being that selfish anymore. As much as I yearn for my SELF and will yearn for it until I fully get it back they really do come first. They always will. I wish I could put it as eloquently as a friend of mine did, she said that giving birth is like having a piece of your heart always outside of you, out there without all of the protection and security of your body. It is so true.