The water runs hot. So hot it could scald. I stand under it, where I longed to be all day, hot water streaming over head and down shoulders and back.
The kids laugh and come in and out of the bathroom. Steam follows and cool air rushes over the top of the shower curtain and it's enough to give tiny relief from the heat.
I poke my head out and see two little faces, smiling at me. Bellies on the uneven wooden floor boards, legs bent in the air, chins rested on hands resting on elbows resting and laughing.
It is such scene that I can't help but smile, and not mind - for a moment - that my shower has been interrupted. Again.
It is such a scene that I could not have created.
And then like the steam that escapes my calm rushes out and I wonder when I will be alone again.
While I don't say the words, I think them. And I wonder what it takes to make it so that I don't think them. To be here, with them, and simply be thankful that at the end of the day they still want to be with me.
So I run my hands down my legs, smooth and shave and look at bumps and bruises from moving. Notice my hips, a little more defined since the week of sickness. Notice curves that held babies and curves that call to my husband and curves that only I notice. Emotions rise and fall as the voices of little ones get louder and softer and swirl around me. Eyes beg for tears, mouth begs for smile, mind tires and voice sighs.
All in a day. All in a moment.
A girl whips back the shower curtain with wide eyes and a Mama, after you're done your shower, can you get dressed and snuggle me?
I breathe in the freshly opened bar of lavender soap. Taking in the moment and savoring the bits moving on and staying still.
And I say yes.
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Tonight I'm linking up {for the first time... } with Emily at if eden murmurs and her Imperfect Prose...