We three


It’s Tuesday afternoon and we are back home after two long weeks in Bristol. I am again typing with one hand and staring at my soup which has grown long cold and remains untouched. It is nearly 6pm and the baby is finally sleeping. He is curled up, hands under chin, head down upon my chest after a long afternoon of generally being discontent with the world as it stands today. There was always going to that moment when I would have to stand up to the plate and stare motherhood right in the face. Maybe it took going away and coming back again for it to suddenly all feel very real. There is a change of pace and mood in our home today and there is no time to get ready for it. 

I miss being at home. I miss Bristol. We have been spoilt over the last fortnight with proper dinners, warm beds and grandparents with soothing voices and the grace of experience. Today it is just me on my own, trying to get my shit together and look after this baby as best as I can. I miss my husband who has gone back to work today and works so incredibly hard for this little family of ours. I can’t help but feel sad for him. Even an afternoon like this full of inconsolable wailing are moments worth having. I wish he were home all the time. Yes, I have been thoroughly lucky to have had him around for nearly two months. Forrest and I are definitely feeling the space where he should be right now. We wait for home time and I try not to watch the clock. We may not have jobs but I have a feeling that he and I might live for the weekends. Whilst this afternoon we begin to find our rhythm together as a pair, we will never be as good as when we are three.


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