I look at the dusk setting just outside the window of my dining room. The soles of my feet hurt from standing tad too long in the kitchen. My back aches from all the pots and pans that would not fit in the dishwasher. I am tired. I long to walk outside. To feel the breeze and the lingering warmth from the eighty-degree day.
I pull the blinds down, pulling the curtains on my aspirations for the day. I make my rounds, tuck one kid into bed when a situation happens that threatens my already teetering sense of control. I walk away. I hear Saathi’s reassuring voice from the other room. I hear the good nights and the i-love-yous. I feel relieved and exhausted. I feel sadness and shame other emotions I cannot name. Most of all I feel overwhelmed by the things I am not prepared for.
When I set out on the path to parenthood, I was so focused on the instant I would be a mom that it did not really sink in that what follows in the real deal. The grunt work that goes in each day. The physical labor it involves. The 24/7, year-round mental weight one carries like an anchor. The reams of research. The networks you build and tap, the tempering of expectations and most of all the knowledge that this is for life.
This feeling of heaviness will pass. Tomorrow will dawn with laughs and sparkles. I will go for that walk. I will forget the pain of today. I will focus on the highs instead of the lows. I will write glowing odes to motherhood until one day it happens again and a different truth hits me like a wrecking ball.