Happy Sunday, I hope.
My birthday week has officially begun. In less than one week, I will be at the start of another decade.
Here are the 40s I’ve written since my last e-mail.
“What About Me?”
At the turnaround, right as I admit we’re lost, the toddler screams. He sits on the ground and readies fistfuls of dirt.
“This way,” his brother cajoles.
“Me done!”
I pull the toddler up. When do I get to cry?
“Endurance”
At what point can we consider motherhood an endurance sport? Why don’t strangers assemble in our kitchens with signs that say “You’re my hero?” I just want someone to handfeed me every three miles, especially when I’m slow and crying.
“French”
At some point, the hair took on its own identity.
This was when the hair started speaking. Unfortunately, it spoke only French, and I made the mistake of taking Japanese in high school.
I would’ve already forgotten my French, anyway.
“Corn Pit”
Corn kernels drip from inside pant legs. We shake our bodies and corn erupts from sleeves to shoes.
We watch a baby dig a kernel from her diaper. She lets it settle among the rest.
We won’t jump back in.
Thank you for reading. Have an easy week.