BUT I can't seem to finish that post. I'm distracted. There are other things to think about.
This is a post about other things. Because life is happening.
A few weeks ago Cleveland suffered a nasty head injury when his scooter tripped through our driveway and his forehead (that sliver of skin between his eyebrow and helmet) made contact with the cinder bricks that line our front lawn.
There were screams (from Lucie) and silence (from Cleveland). And so much blood. I am a nurse, but lack a background in trauma, and gaping head wounds, pouring out blood with skull (you know, BONE) that I can visualize, and the fear of white matter poking out is definitely beyond my skill set. So I did what every scared and panicky parent would do. I called 911. They put me on hold (yes, this happens), I called my husband on a second phone and tag-teamed triaging his injury. Paramedics came. Lucie (still visibly, and um, audibly shaken) received almost as much attention as her brother. C-collar placed, patient on a back board, up into the rig, and we were off. Several hours, and several sutures in three tight layers later, we headed home.
He's fine. He's a bit different, but he'll be himself soon enough. Very limited activity for several weeks to prevent re-injury, but no long-term consequences.
Lucie also survived.
Everything else has been status quo. Of course, our little upended home with
And we've all suffered a bit for it.
Lucie continues to struggle with her identity in the face of Lolo's birth. Coco is a wild child, a live wire, a loose cannon and every other similar analogy you can think of. Lolo's trying to find his routine. He's not yet a great napper, but he's becoming a good overnight sleeper. He has trouble self-soothing, perhaps owing to the level of chaos that pervades his every infantile moment.
I'm weary. When everyone is finally in bed, I find myself staring at a list of tasks still to accomplish and realizing I don't have energy for any of them.
Last night I was singing The Bear Went Over the Mountain to Coco at bedtime. A lyric gave me pause. "And all that she could see was the other side of the mountain." I realized that this is how (some of) my days feel. All day I climb the mountain. I exert myself physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually in the pursuit of a thriving family. And at the apex, what do I see? The other side, the next day, staring at me. Some days that's all that I can see.
The sight of that coming day is not entirely joyless. But it's ever-looming presence, beginning in T minus never-enough hours is daunting.
This morning I heard a wise woman say something that made me rethink this entirely. "You can always begin again," she said. Begin again. Sometimes, when the days are hard, I just steel myself until I can put everyone to bed and finally breathe. I feel as though I'm wishing the day away, wanting a new one, a due-over. It can make for a lot of waiting. I had a realization in hearing her words. I can always begin again. I don't have to wait for a new day or a new year, or when my pre-pregnancy jeans fit just right again (cue hysterical laughter).
I can shut my eyes for a moment.
I can breathe.
I can try on a softer tone of voice, a gentler touch.
I can (maybe) even smile.
And I can begin again. And again. And again...
