On the Table

Tonight was one of those nights when I didn't want to put Elias down after he fell asleep in my arms. I wanted to stare at his rosebud lips, his copper curls, his impossibly long lashes and just soak in the glory of his perfection.

But my parents and Nick sat at the table eating Dungeness crab to celebrate our last night together, so I put my sleeping beauty down. I returned to the table to crack open claws and pick the soft white meat out of the body.

I feel like I' ve been cracked open, exposing all the gooey green stuff that lies beneath my shell. The messy layers that don't look pretty in picture menus. The part your fingers need to wade through in order to find the desirable chunks beneath.

But this green gooey mess is necessary and good.

The exposed cracking forced me to take off my silver wrist cuffs and untie my cape. I'm mortal after-all. I can't save the day for others when my own day is stuck in dawn, with miles to go before noon.

And there is a familiar comfort in this human skin. This body that will rust with age. This listening to the part of me that says: Help.

The part of me that is still that sleeping child in my own mother's arms, who whines softly when she gently puts me down.

Comments

[Jill Urbane, The Mentor Mom]

I am new to your blog and am inspired by your honesty and insight. As an Early Childhood Interventionist who works with many children who were premature, you provide a voice for others thus validating their journey on the rollercoaster. Keep up the great work.