Morning

The light touches my eyes and I remember the heavy hurt of the night before.  My heart still rages in anger as the memories try to hold me to my bed.  I hear my children screaming, meaning there is no time to lounge awake slowly.  The sun warms my face as I stretch my stiff arms, and arch my sore back.  It is another day.  Another day to try and forget. 

I stumble onto my awkward, dry feet, thinking of the lotion I desire to put on them if only I had the time, but the piercing wail of my daughter shoots me into action on my course to motherhood for another day.  I peek my head into her room as I finish pulling a shirt on over my own head and can relate to the miserable face and cry she issues forth.  I pick my chubby, bright blue eyed doll from her crib and rock her in my arms, wishing I too had someone to rock and comfort me.  I let the thought go as quickly as it came because now that the babies are up, the work must commence.  Mouths to feed and hand s to fight away.  Bottles to clean, pure childlike white skin to clothe, beds to make and games to be had.  My needs don’t matter at the moment. I only hope that tonight when the loneliness encircles me with its taunting arms again, I am able to at least brandish a little hope to make a restful sleep possible. 

My children rub their eyes with their little fisted hands and I find my fingers rubbing the tired from my eyes as well.  Fresh demands are given to me from my expectant son and vocal whining daughter.  I force a potty time and pull the rat nest of hair on my head into a bun as much as I can before trekking downstairs to begin the fight of mealtime.  I am tired.  I am always tired.  I love them so much though.  They are all I have left in this life, so once again, I put myself away and I be what they need as best I can.