My heart rate is up, a thin sheen of sweat builds at my temple, they’ll be home any minute… or maybe not, maybe I’ve got two more hours. I wanted to put the laundry away, play music, finish up loose ends for work, meditate again. I catch my body moving in jerky spasmodic motions, not sure where to turn next as the thoughts bombard my attention. I compulsively check my phone to see an update on their ETA. I’ve had 24 glorious hours of quiet, calm, unscheduled time.
I’m so grateful. It’s not enough.
I need to get out of here! If I get out of here before the come home, I can finish up a couple more things before… …before all of my attention is focused towards my child… …before I’m at the mercy of whatever mood he’s in… …before any rational planning and accomplishment of tasks is totally impossible.
I can’t believe how wrapped up in anxious thoughts I’ve become, I practically run out the front door to be sure I don’t accidentally see my son and husband before I’m ready to reengage with them. I realize I forgot my wallet a block away. I sneak back into my own home, terrified that I’ll hear the creak of the back door as I open the front. Terrified that I’ll see my son’s chubby face and deep brown eyes light up at my presence, that I’ll feel my hear melt, my arms open, my to-do-list fade into oblivion.
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