I woke up this morning to two pairs of tiny feet squeaking the floor boards into my room.
My babies were up and wanted me to be, too.
Nevermind I’d stayed up too late last night, unable to stop my mind from racing about the fact I’d parted ways with my employer after all, about the fact I was scared about (yet looking forward to) what comes next. Even at 2 a.m., when I forced myself into bed, I couldn’t turn off my head (or my heart).
I eventually slept and when my babies woke me just after 7, my eyes struggled to stay open.
Rye, my older-than-his-years little man, walked straight to me and kissed me on the lips. “I love you, Mommy,” he said. I pulled him in and squeezed. He tucked himself under the covers.
Paige stood staring at me, ragged blankie clutched in her arms, and I pulled her up, too.
There, I lay with my babies, drifting in and out of very light sleep, as the sun slowly rose, as the light slowly filled the room.
I looked over at them from time to time, all innocent and peaceful, all everything right and good in the world.
And I pushed my fear aside, got up and made them Eggos.
Just like I do every morning.
Later, we danced to a record the kids put on themselves. I listened to them laugh, as they played with their toys. My boyfriend joined us at The Rose and we watched Rye perform on his last day of “How to Be a Pirate.”
Both my parents called. So did a girlfriend. Kyle helped my babies make a fort in the backyard. He really is awesome.
My mind is still racing. That fear is still there. But like I’ve been telling all of you for months now – be brave.