To the mama in the quiet house,
I see you, I know you, I am you. I know you ache for your babies to come home. Maybe you are worried about them. Maybe the anxiety and the what-ifs are consuming you. Are they getting tucked in just so? Did they read enough? Did they miss me today? Will they forget about me? Am I being replaced?
Maybe they’ll be back in a few hours, or a few days, or at the end of the month. I know you are counting down the minutes until your arms and heart are full again. I know you never dreamed of this when you thought of having babies.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way.
A mama can’t turn her heart off.
You try to stay busy to quiet the ache, but nothing seems to dull the agony of a quiet house. You read the books, do the therapy, exercise, and lean on your friends, but that ache is so persistent that at times you feel sick.
Mama, remember, these babies were created for you. They will run into the house and hug you and laugh. Maybe they’ll share hard things with you. Things that make you sad. But just having them near you will cause your mind to stop racing.
You will sing a little louder, dance a little more, and love on them.
You will find your strength to kiss them goodbye when they have to leave, trying not to let them see your sadness.
You are a mama—it doesn’t matter what percentage of the time. That part of your heart never turns off. It never lets go.
A mama trying her best