Twenty-four Hours

Days aren’t as long as they used to be. Back when our two children were feisty toddlers and my 

Husband worked revolving shifts, twenty-four hours lasted twenty-four years and nobody

Cared that I was drowning in every single second. Nurturing was a foreign concept peddled

By well-meaning matrons and judgemental church ladies. What in hell was wrong with me 

That I didn’t gush over every milestone, each budding tooth, too exhausted to care that my babies 

Wouldn’t be babies forever and that someday twenty-four hours would feel like twenty-four 

Minutes, and a year reduced to a week and my babies grown and out on their own. Too soon.

My daughter celebrates her 36th birthday today. Even though I love her fiercely I wasn’t a patient mommy. The days of her infancy passed as slowly as liquid concrete, and I wish with all my heart we could have a do-over. 

But she’s grown into an amazing, beautiful woman, and I’m so very proud of my Ashley. I love her, like her, care about her. Every day.

Peace, people.

Author: nananoyz

I'm a semi-retired crazy person with one husband and two cats. View all posts by nananoyz