Today is a day to get my hands in the dirt. To wear out underused muscles as I prepare the earth for the Spring that will come eventually. A day that begs to be spent outside, even when it rains. It’s not a day to worry about the weather tomorrow.
Today I don’t care that Lorelei talks without pause, or that she looks like a sunburned Oompa Loompa. I can live with the fact that Rowan has barely napped. I don’t care that the house is a mess, because today is not a day to be inside. Today I don’t care about the insecurities and fears, the to-do lists and tower of responsibility.
Today is a day for porch selfies, afternoon beer, and blankets in the sun. For birthday parties and playdates with friends.
These are the type of days that I was made for. My brain is a swing twisted to its breaking point, and these days let it twist the other direction. I can’t sit still. I get. shit. done.
The tension hasn’t quite released from my shoulders, and soon we will jump back into the darkness of winter. But today I can see the potential. I can imagine gardens and sprinklers and spontaneous cookouts. Lazy nights and camping in the woods. Festivals and packs of feral children.
I can hear the birds over the sound of my swirling thoughts. My patience is just a little bit thicker, my mind a little more present. I can observe the day, the noise in my brain pushed to the background, the coil unwound.
Last year I missed spring, spending it in hospitals and a postpartum haze of panic and fear. This year I’m taking it back. Last year’s neglected garden will be the fertilizer for this year’s tomatoes. And they’re going to be great.
We all are.