I am at the sink. Again. Near always. Washing vegetables. Washing dishes. Filling pots. Washing hands. Washing hands. Washing hands.
My two-year-old is home with me every single day for a month now. There is the joy of it. The pleasure in nothing but cat noises with my little love for hours. Snuggles and giggles and nothing to do but be silly. There is the gift of being a stay-at-home mom, something I’ve never been, still checking in on work even when on maternity leave, always grounding myself in quiet, focused work. Now, I am not grounded. I meow hour after hour, my body turning into a tabby cat, nuzzling my young, mewing and yowling, teaching her to voice her needs, to erupt with noise, even if we’re still calling out for days and days and days.
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