Lonely isn’t really the right word.

“I feel lonely,” you tell your husband when he sees your tears and asks what’s wrong. And then you can’t help but smile and say, “In a funny kind of way.”

Olive’s soft head, 14 months and growing, pushes into the side of your neck as she sleeps perpendicular to you in bed. In a matter of hours, you’ll wake to the sound of Elias’s door opening as he stumbles from his “big boy” bed to yours to barnacle himself to your remaining side.

“Mommy, Mommy, turn around,” he’ll say if you happen to be curled the other way, sharing milk with his sister. “You want to put your arm around me.”

So you’ll lie on your back like the No Man’s Land between siblings.

You’ll be Mommy, Mom, Mama, Mmmmmm.

But not me.

You won’t be me for a hundred sleepless nights, a thousand worries, a million breaths…

Lonely isn’t really the right word.

More like lack of lone time.

You feel invisible amidst an adoring crowd, a chorus of hands that reaches for you and moans. You feel swallowed by need--add special before the word need, multiply it, and well you’re hanging out with Geppetto deep in the belly of the whale.

This is the part of parenthood that doesn’t get a lot of press.

The times you feel as empty inside as a driftwood log spun around in the saltwater one two many times.

A paper-thin snake skin found in the brush.

 ***********

After a couple hours away, by yourself, you sit on the edge of the brown leather recliner, so your feet can touch the ground. Olive and Elias take turns climbing onto the small wooden rocking chair, and across the black vinyl ottoman, just to reach you.

They take turns.

A momentary truce between seven-year-old Elias and his baby sister. An armistice of sorts. You want to wave a white flag and sing Halleluiah. Declare a holiday. Break bread with the neighbors. Light a bonfire and dance in the sand.

One at a time brother and sister dive behind your back, all grit and giggles. You tickle their squirmy bodies as you pull them across your own. You hold them close to your chest, heart to heart, before letting go so they can slide away from you to do it again.

“Uh oh there’s a little boy behind you!” Elias narrates, “Uh oh there’s a baby behind you!”

“Uh oh there’s a boy at your back.”

“Uh oh there’s a girl coming!”

Uh oh is right, but you find yourself climbing into bed with a bit more light.

Comments

[fleming]

you write it so well. I too feel like that sometimes.

[Greta]

I love reading your posts. I recently finished a book called "Ida" about a woman and her family (12 kids and 15 or so pregnancies) who settled in the Eagle River Valley of CO (where I live) in the late 1800's during the mining boom. Her husband was always working away from the house and she was in charge of the kids, the house, cooking, keeping children alive in the dead of winter, etc. I can't even imagine the "loneliness" of her day-to-day life. The children, as they grew, kept her company, and she longed for female companions, even a neighbor two miles away that she could visit, say once every two weeks. When I get bogged down w/ my daily struggles, I remember Ida Herwick.

[Linda]

Yay! Taking turns! What an achievement... I congratulate you on your teaching and your example.

I loved this post, as I do so many of them.

[Kate T'91]

Yup. You're not alone in your loneliness. Beautifully put.
Kate

[Bethany]

Once again, you are def not alone in your loneliness ... <3

[Christy]

Greta thanks for telling me about Ida, I've been holding her image in my mind this week as I struggle to get over a head cold that struck as soon as I recovered from the stomach bug. Its so much harder to give when we're drained and the combination of my two children plus the 300+ kids at school with needs overwhelms me at times. And yet, really, I have so much, neighbors and friends and family I can call on, a husband who rocks as a Dad, a job I can walk to, mountains and parks and trails, hockey games to play....readers who let me know I'm not alone:)

[Greta]

You have my company in living the dichotomy of feeling loneliness and wanting to be left alone. Sometimes I scratch my head wondering why we went for three kids. The constant need is so trying for me. I love them but they drive me crazy.