The Spoken Word * for those who are unaware
Here I stand in a place where diapers and wipes are an everyday reality. My coach bag that was once filled with high hopes and unending dreams is now stuffed with a four year olds screams and a sippy cup filled to the brim with "mommy can I" and "she won't leave me alone".
Yet I drudge on. Trying to find that one sock that was stuffed with cheerios and dirty diapers that just didn't make it in time into the trash can. And if I'd gotten that extra hour of sleep that my four year old promised he'd give me....like the unidentifiable rash that lurks in my ash tray, like old cigarettes butts accidentally knocked to the floor by a 2 year old rage and wrath.....inside the bath tub that carries the ring that I so desperately needed from the man that carries the other half of my heart.
Traveling through the kingdom of unwashed clothes and wiping dirty noses, I come to the realization that one day this will no longer be. I will look back and smile the smile of the cheshire cat and poke my chest out really far while gazing into the distance of long gone trips to the potty when he just wanted to sit and multiple details for my car when she just couldn't help but to get sick. When Power Rangers held the key to momentary happiness and bliss all sealed together with one single kiss.....Mother I am.
This is a poem that I wrote sometime after becoming a mom. I was 20 something and had just had a baby boy, my last. I was on a small dose of an antidepressant and trying to find my way through postpardum depression from my second pregnancy. I'm glad that I chose to pick up a pencil. The original poem had no periods, commas, or quotaton. Just pieced together like floetry.