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I was sitting in my car at a light next to my husband and children in our other car {long unnecessary explanation involved}. My children and I made funny faces at one another. I started to play peek-a-boo with my eight year old sitting in the back seat, and I realized two things:

1) The car windows would never not be streaked with fingerprints.

2) I didn’t have the energy to even dream of playing like this when my boys were little.

It is sad to reflect on their baby days and to remember them in a blur of feeling like my soul had been sucked out. I had nothing to give. Sure, I could cook dinner, but my mind wasn’t in it. Sure, I could change a diaper, but it made me sad. Sure, I could take the kids to the park, but my heart was broken by the beauty of their laughter.

I don’t remember much except how I felt, and it wasn’t good. I hope my children don’t remember this version of their mommy. But if they do, they know I was real. I was present, but I was hurting and it wasn’t because of them. It was because my brain was missing a few key amino acids… because my heart was broken and I was finding my way.

Sitting at that stoplight, I felt the energy and the desire to be silly. I haven’t always been that way. I noticed how it felt, and we made some memories in the span of 30 seconds. Perhaps this is life: making memories in the seconds when the energy spills into the open spaces and we listen. We make the funny faces, and then we drive on through the light when it turns green.




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