I step into the shower. The lukewarm drops instantly hit the back of my head, darkening my hair, and trickle down my back. I turn the shower knob making the water warmer and stand there, taking in the silence. The fog starts to build up, and the whole scene calms me—taking my mind off of things.
Because these five-minutes of shower time are my only moments alone until I’m reading stories to my kids' weary eyes tonight.
Because I’m a mother—
and the second I get out of the shower it’s go time.
Little eyes will start opening, and little mouths will start moving.
My lips part as I inhale deeply breathing through the steam while thinking of the day to come.
I cringe as if I could hear the baby wailing in the car while there’s nowhere to stop to comfort her.
I roll my eyes at the thought of my almost-four-year-old sassing at me all day long.
I cower thinking of my two-year-old throwing a tantrum because she doesn’t want to go into a class.
They all have moments in the day where they’re impossible. They’re little humans, of course, they do.
I let the water overtake me, dripping down my face and into my mouth. I close my eyes as the heat of the water takes over my skin. I’m close to dozing off as my eyes get heavier and heavier.
I was up late last night in a carousel of thoughts.
Then, wrote an email,
browsed the internet to unwind,
and then the baby got up twice in the middle of the night.
“Viv’s up,” my husband interrupts before stopping by the mirror to give his suit a once over.
I shut off the water and quickly grab a towel to dry off my body. I throw on comfortable sweat pants and a t-shirt and don’t even bother to do a once over. There's no time.
“I tried to get her, she only wants you,” my husband calls down the hall to me.
“Lucky me,” I snark.
My eldest’s face lights up when our eyes meet, and she jumps into my arms.
I wouldn’t trade a ten-minute shower for this, for her, for any of them.
How lucky am I?