Yesterday I spent the day going through this.
I know when I'm more sensitive. And I know my eyes and ears find themselves on overload.
My temper... temperament? How I react, respond to my daughter - it changes as the clock ticks.
My husband got home. Saw her on high-speed. He knew. He looked at me and knew.
I took ten minutes to myself. I figured that would be enough.
It could have been.
But she kept on going.
That sweet little smile. That voice. It ran and ran and ran.
SHE ran and ran and ran.
I convinced my husband it would be okay for him to take her to pick up McDonald's. I don't eat McDonald's, but a drive-thru experience seemed like the best option.
He watched. Took it in.
Should I take her to play? he asked. Knowing. Feeling it. Knowing the time it would give me on my own. And the moments he'd have while being the parent whose child played. Some semblance of silence for him, too, as he would watch her make friends.
You could, I replied.
My voice drenched in longing.
Please. I thought. Please take her. Even for a few minutes. It would be so quiet. So nice. For just a few minutes.
And he did. He took her.
I ate leftovers for dinner.
I worked out to the Wii fit disc I was finally able to focus on finding.
A half hour of walking. Marching. Moving. I moved. Broke a slight sweat.
And when I was done I felt a little anxious.
What was taking them so long? Why weren't they home yet?
I shook those thoughts off and went upstairs.
I took a shower without small shouts from the outside.
I came back downstairs and actually watched some TV.
I had a little bit of time, just for me.
I was free. If only for a little while.
And I enjoyed. I savored. I lived every moment of it.
And it was okay.
And later on, in the night, I washed my daughter's hair. I dried it.
I took deep breaths when she splashed water all over the mirror and sink.
I gave her some snuggles. I held her hand.
All a bit sweeter because I had tasted some freedom a few hours before.
Sometimes that's all it really takes.