This week sort of feels like it's stretching out into eternity with Rob halfway across the country for work. I'm getting better at dealing with the travel involved in his new job, allowing myself to roll with the punches more when I'm flying solo. I cut myself some extra slack, make sure we're all eating enough to ward away hunger rage, put things like "shower" but not "shave" on my to-do list.
Truth be told it's been a blissful kind of week. Exhausting, sure. Waking up the morning after a sleepless night to a flooded hallway because someone decided to clog the toilet before leaving for Texas was no picnic. But small disasters aside, it's been good.
Being pregnant has forced me to slow down, and I'm trying to embrace this new pace and be intentional about enjoying it. I've been sitting around doing preschool puzzles and reading books and cooking simple meals. I've been soaking in these small moments with Lucas and Avery, realizing there's nothing small about them. These are exactly the sort of tiring, simple days I'm going to long for when they're older. A total lack of volume control and building block towers and dancing to a small, specific rotation of YouTube music videos. These are the sort of moments that make me ache with nostalgia, even as I'm experiencing them.
And maybe it's because I'm not getting enough sleep, or maybe it's because I'm all baby-hormone crazy, but I've been spending these days fighting the urge to cry because I'm so goddamn grateful that this is my life right now. You wouldn't know it by talking to me or dropping in unexpectedly, because from the outside it looks like pure chaos. It looks like I'm frazzled and dying for a nap (which, okay, I probably am). But when no one's around, when it's just me and them, it's a different sort of chaos.
They're still wild, they're still loud, but they quiet my soul.