I probably won’t remember this.
The soft fuzz of your head tucked under my chin as you nestle yourself closer against my body. The faint smell of milk and your mouth opening as you try to find your way.
My exhaustion is tangible.
I cringe when they say to enjoy every moment; some moments just aren’t joyous. Most aren’t. These tiny pieces of life exist without exaltation or disdain, out to prove nothing, to please no one.
I don’t want to cherish every second. I want the beauty to be described by the burdensome. Stark contrast and sharp relief as we float through the waves of difficult years and breathtaking days. Sometimes I just want to quit, to throw up my hands and say I can’t do this, to max out my credit cards and move somewhere tropical. Those days juxtapose the great days, raising them higher and making them shine brighter.
At least, that’s the sort of bullshit I might write on a great day, or to try to convince myself that bad days serve a purpose. It’s not false, but it’s also not consolation. Some days suck, and it’s not failure to admit that. Some days the baby poops up his back, the big kid melts down because you can’t uncut her sandwich, and you break your last bottle of wine when you trip over the dog. Some days have no redemption.
Today? Today is neither of those types of day. Today is a day I might not remember. I will wipe butts, cook food, snuggle, cuddle, and kiss ouchies. It will blend into every other day, a collage of hugs and whining, frustration and imagination – one page out of a box set.
So I will try to let go of expectation and disappointment as this day grinds on, because I have no road map to what will become memory and what will float away. I might remember moments of clarity that shine through these uneventful calendar pages, but the bulk will set sail. So my tears and laughter will meld together as you place a gentle hand on my chest just before you bite down hard.