An Intimate Heart to Heart

If you and I perchanced to be old cronies and somehow you found yourself at the farm for a brief reprieve- quick as a cat, I would whisk you inside with deep hearted promises of warm drinks and a smattering of delectable- albeit healthy treats. 

Sitting by the fire, chunky knit blankets and pillows piled high around us, fully ensconced in noise and chaos and the pattering of little feet, we'd settle in. Eleanor would bring us thousands of books, saying "pookie, pookie" which is toddler code for "read to me!" 

We would chit and chat, immediately falling into our old patterns- even though it's been ages since we've had a proper sit down. In between the interruptions and wails, we would giggle, soaring from the thrill of having a brief moment together. 

Eventually everything would quiet- and then, in that moment,  we would dig in deep to what's really going on in our lives. Sharing half hearted woes and complaints, telling tales of our days and catching each other up on mundane details. Finally, when walls were broken away and the timing was right- I would pour out my heart- telling you exactly where I am. 

I would speak of how overwhelmed I've been. That I've been feeling like I'm not doing my job as well as I could, as I should, that my mind has been elsewhere, confused and distracted. 

I would tell you that I'm at a point in my life where I am faced with a heartbreaking reality- a possibility that my days of babyhood could be passed. That this oh so wonderful chapter of going straight from being a nursing mother to being an expectant mother may be complete. I would impart to you how much I dislike it- that I'm ever so grateful, but the fact that this is a decision based on how sick I will be and not what we want as a family, bothers me. I would cry broken hearted tears that there is a chance that I will never have another delivery day. You would laugh at me and tell me I'm crazy, and I would adamantly stand by the fact that, for me, there is no other day as mesmerizing, romantic and perfectly perfect as delivery day.

I would tell you how blessed I am to have four healthy, vibrant, fascinating wilds and that I feel selfish, like I'm pushing some kind of line or boundary, to even dream or hope of another. I would tell you that I've never been happier in my whole life than I have been right now, and I don't want to upset that, yet still my heart, my arms, ache with the thought of this being finished.

And then, with tears streaming down I would tell you how this is where I shine. This is my prime. I am knee deep in smudges, and questions, in dirty diapers and schooling. I would lament that there is not a clean surface anywhere and I don't own any clothes that fit me, since I've been on a roller coster ride of sizes for the last 8 years. With big guffaws and ugly crying I would ask you how I can move on from here? How can I leave this place that has brought me more joy, more life, more exhausting bone weary beautiful days then ever before? How can I pack the crib away, give away the baby clothes and move on?

I would mourn how many mothers I've heard say "I just knew when I was finished," and I would say brokenly, "I don't think I'll ever feel that way." 

Finally, when you see you've lost, that I will not be consoled, you would say- it will be ok, there is no wrong decision, only life and it will move on whether you're ready or not. 

Then we would hug and you would make some funny comment on how now I could finally get that boob job I always wanted and we would carry on- talking about recipes and gossiping about celebrity hook ups. And while my mind would be no less eased, I would be content, full, knowing how blessed I am, recognizing the beauty of this moment and this life that I love so much.

but, oh how it hurts.